Sensate Focus
by 5SteamboatsShippingCo
Summary: When personal crisis strikes their best friends, Booth and Brennan reconsider their stance on therapy, and their understanding of what brought them there in the first place. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

**A/N: And so it begins...the prologue to the "more elaborate" project that was promised from 5 Steamboats Shipping Co. Buckle your seatbelts, kiddies...you're never going to be quite sure where us crazy fic-loving grad students will take you next.:)**

* * *

"So I told him that it really shouldn't make a difference whether or not he found my tofu satay appetizing to look at. It wasn't preventing him from enjoying _his _meal in any way. And he's always doing that...acting as if he has some say in my personal choices, when clearly the nature of our collegial relationship does _not dictate _that... Booth. You aren't even listening to me."

"Huh?" The suited man sitting a few inches to her right feigned surprise. "Sorry. I was having flashbacks to my sophomore year lecture hall. Dr. Schoeneck... God she was boring. Always prattling on about something or another that 19-year-olds couldn't give a _crap _about..."

"You are _minimizing _my concerns."

"Because you are always making such a big _deal _out of _everything..."_

_"_All-or-nothing statement! That was an all-or-nothing statement." She looked desperately at the youthful doctor sitting across from them. "We aren't supposed to do that, right?"

"Conveniently forgetting that _you _made one just two statements ago," Booth pointed out.

Brennan glared at him. "I said _we, _didn't I? Not _you."_

"But with that tone you were _implying..."_

"Guys? Um. I think we lost focus of the issue here. And switched back to arguing about topics. Remember the difference?" Lance Sweets tried. His clients looked at him blankly. "The _issue _is how you _avoid _the issue," he told them, helpfully.

Booth looked at the doctor dryly, his arms crossed. "Well, doc. Being as we apparently haven't identified _the_ issue yet, we've been sticking to what we know."

"I'm not convinced there is an issue," Brennan piped up, the argument about cognitive distortions abandoned. "Could it be that we have dealt with all the issues? And all that are left are topics?" Her voice was hopeful.

"Um. No."

Defeatedly, both clients sunk back into the couch, their chins tucked down.

"Well, let's think about it, guys. What do you get out of staying on a superficial level most of the time? I mean, this is _therapy. _It's the one place where you're not only allowed, but encouraged to express deeper emotions. But you don't take advantage of that. Why might that be?" Sweets knew what Booth's answer was going to be, before it even left his mouth.

"Maybe because I'm not a _girl?"_

_"_Are you saying I _am?" _Brennan replied, apparently offended.

"I was just _saying _that..."

He needed to interrupt this cycle before it went into its typical spiral. "Imagine a closet," he said abruptly.

Booth and Brennan's mouths simultaneously snapped shut as they stared at him. _Bingo. _"A closet?"

"A closet and a mailbox."

The two looked at each other. "He's finally lost it," Booth murmured into his partner's ear, and she nodded seriously.

Sweets rolled his eyes frustratedly. "It's an analogy. Will you just humor me? For a second? _Please?" _Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "Let's say, every day, you get mail in your mailbox. But you don't look at it. You are too busy, too convinced it's going to be bad news or junk or something you don't want or need, so instead of opening your mail, you toss it in a closet. And you do this same thing, every day, year after year. And after awhile, your closet is getting just stuffed with mail."

"My closet is quite large. It could contain a great deal of mail."

"Dr. Brennan? Please?" He took another deep breath. "_Anyway. _Eventually, your closet is practically busting at the hinges. And one day, you go to shove the day's mail in there, it just can't contain anymore. The door bursts upon. And there you are, in a pile of years' worth of mail, completely overwhelmed and having no idea where to even start going through it all.

Their heads were together again. "I think the mail might be the topics. But what's the closet?"

"Maybe the closet is the therapy room," Booth whispered back. "Where all the topics come out. But if the closet is full of topics, where do the issues go?"

"The issues are non-existent," she hissed. "Just like I said." Acting, as always, as if they were the only people in the room and that Sweets was deaf or dumb or both. His patience was boiling over.

"_Your feelings_!" he shouted, earning an alarmed look from the pair in front of him. "The mail is your feelings and the closet is whatever little corner of your head you put them in, and the explosion is what's going to happen if you don't start _sorting _through them rather then pretending they don't exist!"

They blinked. Stared. And then, whispered in Booth's ear: "So is the issue the mail, or the closet?"

He couldn't stand it anymore. This isn't what he went to school for five years for. Not to work with brilliant people who were acting purposely dense just to prove that he couldn't pull one over on them. For the first time, he was propelled beyond frustrated and into disgusted. "Just... go home, guys. Go home, and do what you have to do until you're ready to sort through your mail. Because obviously, that time is not now."

They looked at him with innocent eyes. "Whatever you say, Sweets," Booth said slowly. A smile twitched at the corner of Brennan's mouth. This was exactly what they had wanted, he could tell. What they had planned for. To make it seem like it was _his _choice for them to end therapy.

It was going to take a lot of _Grand Theft Auto _to calm his frustrations tonight. As his fingers flew over the controller later that evening, he comforted himself with the one thing he knew for a fact. _They'd be back. _Because when that explosion happened... when they tried to fit in one piece of mail too many... it was going to light up the sky. God help the innocent bystanders. But at least Lance Sweets was the one who would be able to say 'I told you so.'

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**A/N: Wanna see what that explosion looks like? Stay tuned.**

**We heart you!**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here ya go, beautiful people. Let's start this steamboat chugging, yes? Settle in, and know that there will be both rough and smooth patches to this particular river. **

**Loves.**

* * *

His hands thrust into his pockets, Seeley Booth sauntered into his partner's office, but when she raised her head, the smiled slipped from his lips.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, perching on the corner of his desk. "Everything okay?"

She frowned, dropping a pen onto a stack of files. "Are you busy tonight?"

He noticed a bag of pita chips on her desk and snagged a few, popping one into his mouth. "Don't think so... why?"

"Good, you can pick me up at eight."

He raised an eyebrow. "For...?" he drawled, dragging out the word.

"We're having dinner with Jack and Angela."

Now it was his turn to frown. "We are? Why?"

She looked at him like he was a simpleton. "Because we were invited."

His hand returned to the bag of snacks as he glanced at her, confused. "Since when do the four of us have dinner?" He paused. "I mean, we played mini-golf that time, but that was really just because -"

She cut him off, looking impatient. "Booth."

"Sorry."

She sighed heavily, dropping deeply back into her chair, her head rolling to the left. "Apparently, Jack knows the owner of that new French restaurant near the capitol, and he insisted they both come."

"What does that have to do with us?"

"Angela asked if we would join them."

He considered this for a moment, chewing slowly. He knew the restaurant she was talking about - one of the other agents at the bureau had recently taken his wife for their anniversary, and he'd said it was incredible. He'd also mentioned his wife had found it to be incredibly romantic, and he found himself picturing the four of them seated around a table, dressed to the nines, his eyes meeting his partner's over candlelight, and he shifted on her desk uncomfortably.

"I don't know," he murmured.

She'd been tapping a pen against her chin, and she paused at his words. "You just said you weren't busy."

He sighed, reaching for more pita chips, but she snatched up the bag, holding it out of reach, and he frowned. "If we're going to have dinner, you shouldn't snack. It'll spoil your appetite."

"I don't know, Bones," he said warily. "Dinner? You and me?"

She tossed the bag of snacks on the other side of the desk, just out of reach, picking up a file folder and flipping it open. "We eat at least six or seven meals together a week. I don't really see the reason for your hesitation."

He stood up, shoving his hands back in his pockets. "That's... different," he muttered. "That's... the diner. Or take-out."

She gave him a flat, cool look; an expression he often found to be infuriating. "I don't see the distinction."

_Of course she wouldn't. _He spun around, walking towards the couch, avoiding her eyes. "It just is, alright? It's a fancy restaurant, we'll have to be all dressed up, and it's just..." He paused suddenly, turning back towards her, his eyes narrowing. "And is this just another one of Angela's attempts to make us go on a date again?" he asked suspiciously. "Because she seriously has to cut that out. I thought we sat her down last year and explained that our relationship does not include -"

"I think she really wants us to go, Booth," she interrupted quietly, cutting his tirade short. "She seemed really tense about it, and she mentioned it several times today." She shifted in her chair, chewing on her lip. "I kind of got the impression she didn't want to be alone through dinner."

He raised an eyebrow. "Alone? She wouldn't be alone. She'd be with her husband."

She didn't respond, simply holding eye contact, and he hesitated. "Oh."

Pushing her chair back from her desk she stood up, handing him a folder of paperwork complete with her signature. "She wants us there, Booth. And she rarely asks anything of either of us, so I think we can both go have a meal with the two of them. It's going to be two hours out of your life, and then it will be over."

He had a soft spot for Angela, and he sighed defeatedly. "Yes, alright. You win. Eight o' clock."

* * *

Brennan surveyed the restaurant...the black-suited waiters, the sparkling chandeliers, the soft, candle-lit glow of the place...the ambiance was perfect. Beside her, her partner fit in perfectly into this place. And into his suit, she thought appreciatively. Her eyes drifted back to her best friend Angela Montenegro, who had been studying her menu now for at least ten minutes. "This place is really amazing," she told her.

"Mmm. If not a little pretentious," Angela murmured, eyes never leaving the menu.

"This restaurant got the highest reviews in Zagat for D.C.," Jack said. He reached over and took his wife's hand, and she looked at it distractedly before going back to the appetizer list. "Only the best for my girl."

"Not a girl, Jack."

Brennan raised her eyebrows. The girl/woman argument was typically hers, not Angela's. She wasn't sure whether or not to be pleased or disturbed by the sudden feminism being displayed by her friend. She opened her mouth to comment on it, but was interrupted by her partner.

"Well. _I _definitely appreciate the opportunity to eat somewhere that doesn't have a senior special and a warning from the health inspector," he said.

"I know. This is light years from the diner," Hodgins replied. "Hey, you all want wine? Babe, you want some wine?" he said, trying to get Angela's attention. She finally looked up, irritated.

"You know I'm trying not to drink right now. Why would you ask me if I want wine?"

"I just thought it would be nice to relax for one evening..."

"And you don't think it's possible to relax without alcohol?" she said sarcastically.

Brennan glanced over at Booth next to her. Was this normal? Her sensors about these things weren't particularly sharp, but she didn't feel like this was normal. Booth caught her eye briefly, and she read the message in them: _Change the subject._

"So Booth and I don't have to go to therapy anymore," she blurted out.

"Really? How'd you get Sweets to agree to that?" Jack asked interestedly.

"He suggested it," she said proudly. "Said we didn't have to come back until we were ready to 'sort through our issues.' And since I'm convinced that we don't _have _any issues, I believe that we can consider ourselves therapy graduates. Right, Booth?"

"Sure. That sounds about right, Bones." He cleared his throat.

Glancing across the table, she found Ange looking at her with an unidentifiable expression on her face. "You know, guys, being in _denial _about issues isn't the same as not having any."

"Well, this menu just looks great. What do you say we order some of this...char-cute-a-rye? That sounds good, doesn't it?"

"It's charcuterie, Booth. And it's all meat. I can't eat that. What do you mean, Ange?" she asked curiously, unable to let it go, unable to turn away from whatever strangeness was happening at this table on this night.

Angela let out a dramatic sigh. "I'm just so _sick _of people pretending like everything is just fine and lah-dee-dah and completely _ignoring _reality because reality isn't convenient for them." Her voice had taken on a slightly shrill quality, and nearby diners glanced over.

"I don't know what that means," Brennan told her, completely flummoxed now.

"Bones, just let it go," Booth hissed from beside her.

"But something's obviously upsetting her about us not going to therapy..."

"I don't give a damn about you going to therapy!" Angela exclaimed, dropping her menu and crossing her arms.

"Babe, settle down. Let's just have a nice meal, okay?" Jack said soothingly, putting an arm around her, which she promptly shrugged off.

"No, Jack. This is _not _nice. And I am _sick _of pretending." Scooting out her chair, she stood. "I'm sorry, guys. It wasn't a good night to go out. I shouldn't have made you come here." She tossed her napkin on the table, and promptly stalked away.

Booth and Brennan's wide eyes met Jack's across the table. He looked at them helplessly.

"Lovely evening, yes? Are you sure you don't want to try the charcuterie? It's fantastic."

But for some reason, she had lost her appetite.

* * *

Booth sat dumbly for several moments, the tension and awkwardness still lingering even as Angela disappeared from the table. Turning his head to glance at his partner, he gave her a subtle chin tilt, his eyes widening slightly.

She just blinked.

He tried again, his eyes bulging, and she still sat next to him, looking mildly shell-shocked herself. Giving up, he sighed heavily. "Go after her," he hissed quietly.

She hesitated for only a moment before shoving her chair back and jumping up quickly, tossing her napkin on the table and following the same path through the tables Angela had taken. Her shoulders were squared, and he knew the wheels in her head were already turning, wondering what on earth to say to her friend.

But his moment of relief only lasted for just that - a moment. Because when he turned back, he realized he was alone. With Jack.

* * *

Okay. The not-normal factor had just been ratcheted up several notches. When Booth told her to go after her M.I.A. friend, it hit her... damn. That's why she was here tonight. To moderate the aftermath of some sort of issue between Angela and Jack that apparently involved some sort of... emotions. She had a brief 'why me' moment before she did the right thing and went to find her friend.

She forced herself to think like...well, like a girl. Where would a woman go when she wanted to escape some sort of issue with her partner? _To the autopsy room_, she thought, then corrected herself. No. It's not Booth she's trying to get away from. And restaurants don't have autopsy rooms. She maneuvered her way to the more likely choice.

Pushing the door to the ladies room open, she found her friend sitting with her arms crossed on the chaise lounge. "Hey," she said to her softly, announcing her presence. Angela looked up at her. "Is this one of those things that it's good to talk about?"

"It might be," her friend said ruefully. "You sure you wanna hear?"

She wasn't sure. But she sat down anyway. It was time to let Angela clean out her mailbox.

* * *

Clearing his throat, Booth reached for his water glass. This was exactly why he had hesitated about coming tonight. Well, not exactly. In actuality, it had mainly had to do with the fact that going on a semi-date with Bones and seeing her in some sort of small black dress (which she was in fact wearing) had caused him severe anxiety. Fancy French restaurants in semi-formal attire was very... un-partner-like. But with the way things had gone at the table since their arrival, it was turning out to be just another argument for staying home.

"I'm sure they'll be back," he said quietly, avoiding Jack's eyes. He picked up the linen-wrapped basket next to his plate. "Bread?"

Jack just glared at him, flagging down a waiter. Speaking a few phrases in French, he gestured at some spot on the drink menu and the man nodded. Hodgins raised an eyebrow, glancing at him from across the table. "What's your poison?"

He coughed. "Bourbon," he choked. "Water back."

The waiter disappeared and he found himself squirming in his seat, the moments of silence ticking by. Sighing, he finally looked up at the man across from him, who's face was twisted into a combination of embarrassment, irritation and abject misery.

He winced. Maybe sending Bones away had been a bad idea. "You... you wanna talk?"

* * *

Brennan shifted uncomfortably on the lounge, glancing nervously as other female patrons occasionally pushed open the door and walked briskly past them. "I'm sorry, Angela. I know that... these issues can be really hard for couples."

Angela eyed her warily. "How do you know?"

She thought. "I spent some time with a Ugandan tribe where women were sometimes threatened to be left in the desert if they couldn't conceive during a special fertility rite period."

The artist looked horrified.

"I don't mean... I mean, Jack wouldn't never... I'm just saying that the social construction of fertility makes it so... God Angela, I don't know. I'm just... sorry. I wish I could help."

"I know, Sweetie," her friend sighed. "And if it were just me, I think it would be okay. But Jack is being... he walks around all this time with a forced smile on his face. He refuses to even talk about the problem. We've always been honest with each other, open about everything, but now he's..." she gestured helplessly.

"He's what?" Brennan asked curiously. What else could he be, other than Hodgins, their charmingly eccentric 'bug and slime' guy?

"He's..." Angela's voice trailed off to a barely-heard whisper. "He's... not the man I married."

* * *

For a man who often babbled far too much for Booth's liking, Jack was shockingly silent before their drinks arrived. Fiddling with his napkin, he eyed the man he'd known for several years across the table as the waiter set a glass in front of each of them. He briefly considered excusing himself and escaping to the bathroom himself, but after taking a sip of his drink, Jack looked at him calmly. "She's upset with me about the whole pregnancy issue."

Torn between relief that he was no longer being ignored and feeling uncomfortable about being the recipient of such information, Booth shifted in his chair. "Oh. You guys are... trying?"

Jack's jaw clenched. "Not anymore."

His eyes widened. This was so incredibly awkward. He fought the urge to twist in his chair and scan the restaurant in hopes of seeing his partner returning to rescue him. "Oh," he said again lamely. "You... you changed your mind?"

Swirling the ice cubes in his glass, Jack glanced at the drink in his hand. "No."

Booth blinked. "...She changed her mind?"

There were another few moments of silence, and Hodgins finally raised his head, his eyes weary. "No. Angela's perfect. It's not Angela that's the problem." He swallowed, shaking his head tightly. "Apparently I'm the one who can't be what she needs."

* * *

"It's been like... some sort of freaky dream. For awhile, when we thought there might be something wrong with my body that was giving us trouble, he was so incredibly kind, supportive. And then, when we found out it was him..." There were tears in her eyes that she quickly blinked back. "Brennan, we haven't made love in weeks. Whenever I bring up adoption or... other options, he changes the subject. It's like he's perfectly content living in this fantasy world of denial where things will magically fix themselves and everything will be okay."

Damn. Brennan wasn't equipped for this. She thought maybe Angela and Jack had argued about who had to do the laundry that night, and she could put things in perspective and they could go back to the table and enjoy their meal. But now, she remembered bits and pieces of the last few weeks... Ange and Jack, coming to work separately, not visiting one another or joking during the day. Cam not having to threaten to hose them down for unauthorized use of the supply closet. Yes. something had been wrong. She mentally slapped herself for not having seen it, but simultaneously knew that if she did, she still wouldn't have known what to do.

"Maybe...he just needs time to adjust to the idea," she tried. "Traditionally, men's fertility has been very much tied to perceptions of their virility, their power, their strength, but there is no such proven connection. Perhaps if you explained that to him... or I could..."

"Forget it, Brennan," her friend interrupted. "I've tried. I've tried talking, I've tried yelling, I've tried ignoring along with him. And all that's left is me... being tired of trying."

* * *

His glass was already empty. Signaling the water again, he tilted his chin towards the empty low ball in front of him and the man nodded, heading off in the direction of the bar. Turning back to Jack, he chewed on his lip for a moment, searching his brain for the right thing to say.

"Have you... considered adoption?"

Jack raised his head, his eyes ominous, his expression unreadable. His jaw was set and there was no humor or attempt to please. And it hit Seeley suddenly - Jack was a man, just like him. He almost flushed at the realization. It wasn't that he hadn't considered him a man exactly, that wasn't entirely true. But he'd been a goofy man, a science dork, a man who worked for his partner who he liked to tease and occasionally push around to get a reaction. But now he could see, now he was getting a glimpse into what Jack Hodgins was really like. And he saw a man - a man who had a wife, who made love and got angry and woke up in the morning, the same as him.

And that man smiled suddenly, weakly. "That's her answer to the whole thing. But that's not what she wants, man. She's trying to compromise on something, and she thinks that's not something I can see."

Grimacing, Booth leaned towards him after gratefully accepting his drink from the waiter. "Are you sure about that?"

Jack's lips tightened. "She deserves to be able to have her own children," he said quietly. "And that's not something I can offer her."

* * *

Brennan had reached over to take her friend's hand, frightened by the look she saw in her eyes. One of the things that had attracted her to Angela as a friend was her seeming unending optimism, her bright and new and hopeful way of looking at the world. What Brennan saw now looked suspiciously like fading hope. And it scared her to death.

"You and Hodgins will get through this, Ange. It's not the end of the world. He has to know that you didn't choose him as a partner based on his baby-making ability. He'll... get it, and he'll come around, and you'll be okay." She heard an edge of desperation in her voice, and hated it.

Angela gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hand. "No offense, Bren. But you're sounding kind of like him right now. Not acknowledging the issue, and hoping it will go away."

She had a flashback to their therapy session earlier in the week, when Sweets had accused her and Booth of avoiding the issue. Her mind immediately reacted. They're crazy. All of them. This all has a logical solution. It's just a matter of finding it. But what came out of her mouth made decidedly less sense.

"It's just... you and Jack have to make this work, Ange. You have to. If the two of you can't... the two of you, who are so good together... what does that mean for the rest of us?" Suddenly, she felt closer to crying than Angela ever seemed to be through this whole thing.

"That's the most romantic thing I ever heard you say, Sweetie," her friend told her. "But right now, I'm going to tell you something less romantic, but decidedly more true about relationships. Sometimes, loving someone means knowing better than anyone else when it's time to let them go."

She dropped her hand and sighed, swiping at her eyes. Brennan looked at her helplessly.

"Thanks for listening to me. It's probably time to leave this outpost though, huh? We wouldn't want to leave those boys to their own devices for very long. Besides, I'm pretty tired. French food definitely isn't what I need tonight."

"Are you sure?" She was still trying to think of the right thing to say. The thing that would fix this.

"Yes." Reaching out, Angela gave her a hug. Brennan clung for dear life. "I'll figure this out, and do the right thing. Don't worry, 'kay?"

She didn't reply, because she couldn't promise not to worry. She had no idea how to fix this. But... she hoped that maybe she knew someone who did.

* * *

Loosening his tie, he sat back in his chair, reaching again for the glass in front of him. Somewhere along the line, after the women had disappeared and Jack had let him in on what was really going on his marriage, he'd lost count of how many times the waiter had appeared with a fresh drink.

And he was torn, he realized. Because while part of him understood Jack's situation and realized he'd feel helpless and less like a man, he found his mind wandering to Angela. Because every time he tried to offer some sort of empathy or alternative, Jack would immediately have a hyper-rational reason as to why the suggestion could not work. It was like hitting a brick wall, like arguing with an encyclopedia. It was like...

Talking to Bones.

Suddenly he felt a rush of sympathy for Angela Montenegro.

More than a little distressed and out of ideas, he simply finished off his bourbon, clunking the glass down on the expensive white linen on the table. He was on his way to oblivion and his empty stomach was growling. He opened his mouth one last time to try to offer some reassurance when a cool hand touched his shoulder.

Whipping his head around blearily, he found himself gazing into his partner's eyes. She almost looked as if she'd been crying, and he frowned with concern.

"I'm sorry, Booth," Angela said quietly. "I just needed a minute."

_A minute? _He wanted to tell her a man couldn't have four bourbons in under a minute.

But Angela turned to her husband. "I'm tired," she said quietly. "I think I just need to go home."

Nodding, Jack pushed his chair back, standing up as well, and Bones reached for her purse.

"No, no, you guys should stay," Angela insisted. "You haven't eaten yet, and the meal's already paid for. Please. I feel so bad for ruining the evening."

"You didn't ruin it," her husband said quietly, and Booth's eyes snapped back to Hodgins.

His partner cleared her throat, and when he turned to her, she was eyeing him warily. "I - I don't need to stay."

"Please," Angela insisted. "As a favor for me. Please stay and enjoy yourselves."

Hesitantly, Bones sat down, scooting her chair back up to the table, and Booth's eyes met Angela's as she turned towards the door. He could see the apology in them, but he wasn't sure what to say or do.

And before he could decide, they were gone, leaving him alone with Temperance Brennan. They looked at each other. He had no idea how to verbalize what he was feeling. She obviously was having similar trouble. This was no "topic" they were dealing with. This was a big, fat issue. He believed he saw in her eyes the same thing he was thinking.

_They needed Sweets._

* * *

**A/N: We'd lurve to know what you think...:-**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wheee! Look at how super-productive we've been! Your beautiful reviews fuel us. And they are _so much cheaper _than gas right now!**

**Onward...**

* * *

"Ooh. Right there. See the sign? Turn right th- Boooones. You _missed_ it," Booth whined.

Brennan gave her partner, who was squirming in the passenger seat, an irritated look. "If you were hungry, you should have eaten the appetizer that was brought to us."

"But I coudn't. Grown men are just not meant to eat snails. It's just not right," he complained. "Grown men are meant to eat big hunks of meat and bread... like the kind they have _there_," he told her, pointing helplessly out the window at the Burger King they went whizzing by.

"That food is so overprocessed that it's barely meat anymore," she sighed. Glancing over at her tipsy-looking partner with the pout on his face, she shook her head. "Fine. If we see another one, maybe we'll stop." She slowed the car slightly when she caught site of a police vehicle nestled discreetly by the side of the highway. "You know, you could be stopping to buy your own burgers if you hadn't finished off a bottle of bourbon by yourself."

"It's not like like I meant to drink that much," he groused. "You and Angela were gone forever, and I had to sit there at the table dealing with... you know."

Irritation coursed through her. "Well it's not like it was fun for me, either." She couldn't get the conversation with Angela out of her mind... or her stomach, it seemed, where it sat like a lead weight. She was, of course, worried and sad for her friends. But somehow, her upset ran even deeper than that.

Booth was looking at her concernedly. "You okay, Bones?"

"You know what? They... just need help. Hodgins is obviously dealing with things in the only way he knows how, and Ange... she just has to understand that. Once she accepts it, they can just go back to the way things used to be." Her voice was definitive.

"Wait... what? He's dealing with it the _wrong_ way. Trust me, I saw it. Angela shouldn't just accept it. He has to change it."

"You can't just change the way you've always dealt with things, Booth."

He looked a little alarmed at her sharpness.

She sighed, and adjusted her tone. "It's just... they have to stay together. That's all," she told him more softly.

His head dropped back. "I know," he conceded.

She could feel his eyes on her, studying her. _Stop doing that_, she thought. It seemed he was always looking at her. Reading her motives.

"Why do you suppose it's so important to us, Bones?"

Now he was just pissing her off. "Because they are our friends," she told him. "That's all." They had weaseled their way out of therapy precisely because they were trying to get _away_ from questions like that. "So. What are we going to do?" she deflected.

"I'll know exactly what to do," he pronounced. She looked at him interestedly. "Once my empty stomach is taken care of."

Shaking her head, she turned into the next drive-thru, unable to deny the tipsy, well-dressed opportunist sitting next to her.

* * *

She wrinkled her nose as he peeled back the paper on the double burger he'd tugged from the bag. His stomach was growling, and he needed something to sop up the bourbon rolling around his gut. Then maybe he could sort all this out, figure out why she was so upset all of a sudden.

Taking a bite, he glanced at her again. She looked small behind the wheel of the large SUV, and she'd had to scoot the seat considerably forward. She'd also tugged off the high-heeled shoes she'd been wearing, claiming it was too difficult with the pedals and was driving barefoot. He was a bit disappointed she'd buttoned up her light jacket - he'd been enjoying the view of her chest that the dress allowed. It wasn't overly revealing, but it certainly displayed more of her skin than he was accustomed to seeing.

"Did you figure it out yet?" she huffed out impatiently.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I've had one bite."

She sighed heavily, pausing at a red light, the engine idling the only sound for a few moments. Frowning, he chewed while he watched her. The trouble brewing in Angela and Jack's marriage really seemed to be hitting her hard, and he wasn't sure what it was about the situation that her so worked up. It was true that Bones was actually becoming quite good with people, and that she would never deny her friends if they needed her. But in general, a request was necessary - otherwise she tended to stay out of other people's arguments or problems.

He jerked forward slightly as she pressed her foot heavily to the gas, nearly dropping his burger in his lap. "Hey, easy, easy..." he muttered. "This is why I like to drive."

She eyed him coolly. "If you'd considered your blood alcohol content when ordering your drinks, you wouldn't be in the passenger seat."

Rolling his eyes, he slumped slightly in his seat. "Enjoy it while it last, Bones."

Despite the griping, at least he felt more comfortable with her now than he had alone with her in the restaurant. She'd looked a little too good by candlelight, her cheeks flushed with worry over her friends and her eyes shining. It had unnerved him, and the liquor coursing through his blood hadn't helped. And as she'd leaned towards him, he'd been unable to keep his eyes from slipping to the ample amount of skin suddenly on display in front of him. He wasn't sure if she'd caught him, but he'd felt his face flush red nonetheless.

He looked up suddenly as the car stopped, and he realized they were in front of her building. Turning, he gave her a guilty look. "Um. I"m not sure I'm able to drive yet," he said quietly, crushing the empty paper bag in his hands.

"I know." Scooping up her shoes, she rummaged around behind her for her purse as he climbed out himself, walking around the vehicle to her door. He tugged it open for her, and she dropped down a little wobbly and his hand shot out to steady her at her waist. "Okay?"

She grimaced. "I guess the strap on my heel wasn't all the way in place."

He realized his hand was still on her waist and he let it drop awkwardly, confident she was steady on her feet. She turned slightly, setting one hand on the door of the car and reaching behind her, tipping her leg back and tugging gently on the strap around her ankle.

He swallowed thickly, his eyes following the flash of leg and spike of her heel, then up to the skin of her throat as she twisted her head gracefully to ensure the shoe was in place.

_Get a grip, Seeley._

Clearing his throat, he just glanced at her awkwardly. "I -"

"Should come in and sober up," she interrupted. "And we can talk about what we're going to do to help them."

His smile was pained. "Bones," he said as he followed behind her as she made her way to the door. "Maybe we should just stay out of it."

She whipped her head around incredulously, her eyes wide. "They're going to end up divorced if we don't do something."

Tugging again at his tie, he sighed, following her in as she opened the front door. "What makes you think we can prevent anything like that from happening?"

"I don't know," she called, making her way swiftly to her front door. "But you said you'd know what to do to fix this."

_Wonderful._

"Bones!" he argued, jogging to catch up with her. "It's not that simple."

Dropping her keys on the table by the door, she flipped on a light as he walked past her, tossing her purse on a chair "Why not?"

He stood there with his mouth half open. "Are you kidding me?"

Her look told him quite clearly she was not.

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he shook his head. "Because the problem they're having isn't something you put a band-aid on," he said helplessly.

She pursed her lips, her arms crossed over her chest. "Well, we just need a way to make Angela understand what's going on."

Incredulous, he set his hands on his hips. "Angela isn't the problem in this, Bones."

Her eyes narrowed. "Booth. Angela is my best friend, and I love her, but I don't think she realizes how Hodgins... feels. She's not the one who has the problem - she's the one who's in the norm. He's the one who has to deal with not feeling like who he is is enough for her, like he can fulfill his societal role as her husband."

Shaking his head, he stepped closer. "No. From what I've gathered, Angela has been more than accepting. She's offered alternatives that he's not even willing to consider." He set his jaw firmly. "She's the one who's willing to bend - he isn't."

"What makes you think he's unwilling to bend?" she challenged.

He threw his hands up, closing the distance between them until they were practically nose to nose. "Because I offered him the same alternatives! And Angela's one of the most accepting, understanding women I've ever met. Are you telling me she's unwilling to accept Hodgins and their life if they can't have biological children?"

"There are social constructs -"

"That's just ridiculous."

She glared at him. "People have ideas, Booth, about what they want. We grow up with society telling us what we should expect from ourselves, from other people as adults. Angela's been attached to the idea of carrying her own child. And she might not want to admit it, but -"

"And you think that matters to her more than the man she loves?" he said tightly. "Really?"

She gritted her teeth, finally taking a step back, unbuttoning her coat and tossing it on the chair, leaving her in front of him in that damn black dress. Despite his irritation, he couldn't help react. His hands again falling to his hips, he spun on his heel, heading towards the couch and away from her.

"You said you'd know what to do."

He sighed, turning towards her tiredly, the argument and the liquor starting to tug him into exhaustion. "I don't know, Bones." He looked at her helplessly, again catching the vulnerability in her eyes, and he weakened.

And before he could even think, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Maybe we could... go talk to Sweets."

* * *

She laid in bed, her hands clasped behind her head on her pillow and her eyes wide open. She couldn't sleep. It would be convenient to blame the drunken snores emanating from the man passed out on her couch in the living room, which easily infiltrated her bedroom door. But if she were honest with herself, it was the noise in her own head that was keeping her awake tonight.

It was easy to recall the day when Angela told her, almost guiltily, that Hodgins had asked her out on a date. And she also easily recalled the doubt and amusement that had come over her. Hodgins. The bug-loving, conspiracy theorizing, triple Ph.D. holding scientist. And Angela, her best friend. The free-spirited, creative, loyal artist who wrinkled her nose at the work they did. On that day, she would have easily predicted that any relationship attempted between those two opposites would have been a disaster in the making.

But now, three years later...

Temperance Brennan wasn't a romantic. She didn't believe in love at first sight, or love conquers all, or any of the other ridiculous cliches that were constructed to uphold the societal standard of monogamy. Human beings were animals like any other. Monogamy wasn't in their nature. It seemed crazy to her that the culture she lived in... which was so forward-thinking in so many other ways... prescribed it.

However, when Angela and Hodgins became a couple..._ really_ gave a relationship a try... it made Brennan think that maybe, just _maybe_, there were some people in the world for whom true love was a reality. They cared for each other. Truly accepted one another for all that they were, and all that they weren't. And when she had stood beside her friends at the altar when they finally made their vows to one another, she had smiled. _Yes. Love was a possibility._ Despite the differences, despite the challenges to be overcome, despite the fact that they _worked together_, a little part of her mind almost believed that this thing between her two friends was meant to be.

Now, in her bed, contemplating the potential end to her friends' relationship, she felt a growing coldness. If she couldn't believe in Angela and Jack... she wasn't sure there was anyone or anything else to believe in, save her trusty science and facts.

There was a loud snort from the other room, followed by silence. She waited on edge for a moment... _breathe, Booth, breathe_... before the more rhythmic snores returned. Briefly, it entered her mind to go check on him, then she shook off the thought. He, like her, could take care of himself. Rolling over to a cooler spot on her bed, she almost wished he'd wake up so that they could further discuss what they would tell Sweets tomorrow when they dropped by his office. Balling up against the chill, she had a sudden memory of the warmth she had felt as she slid out of the car and felt Booth's hand, firm and steady against her waist to keep her from stumbling; this was juxtaposed to the warm flush of anger she had felt when he suggested that Jack could simply buck ingrained societal mores about what men were supposed to be. _Focus, Temperance. You've more important things to think about._

Sweets would be smug, seeing them there again. But, at least she and Booth would have the satisfaction of knowing their visit had everything to do with their troubled friends... and absolutely nothing to do with them.

* * *

**A/N: -sputter- Uh oh. We're running on empty:( Fill'er up with premium review awesomeness, please...**


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: we're baaaack... did you miss us?_

_hope you like this next little installment. we love you and love your reviews. seriously. _

**

* * *

**

The sound of a glass clunked heavily on the coffee table next to him, and he sat up with a start, his eyes falling blearily on his partner. She dropped down cross-legged in a large arm chair across from him, a steaming mug in her hands. Attempting to focus his gaze, it slid from the messy pile of hair she'd tied up to her bare legs. Clad in only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she looked as if she'd just rolled from bed, her face scrubbed clean and her legs tucked beneath her as she calmly sipped her coffee.

"Sleep well?" she asked innocently. "How are you feeling?"

He grimaced, reaching for the water she'd set in front of him. "Other than that hammering inside my skull, I've never felt better."

She smiled at him smugly. "Well, if you hadn't -"

"Yes, yes, we've been over this," he muttered. "Are you going to give me shit for the next eon?"

Frowning, she took a sip of her coffee. "Booth, an eon is the largest division of geological time. That's entirely inaccurate."

He closed his eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer for patience. He needed some coffee if he was going to be expected to put up with this.

"How long do you need to get ready?" she asked, standing up and heading to the windows. With her back to him, he made no effort to avert his eyes as her ass winked at him underneath her short shorts. He wasn't allowed very much time to appreciate the view, however, because she suddenly yanked up the blinds, flooding the room with light, and he winced. The sun felt as if it were piercing his skull.

"Ready?" he muttered, downing his water quickly. "What on earth are you talking about? I'm off today, Bones. No work."

She turned to him, her expression as if she were addressing a five year old. "We have an appointment with Sweets - at nine-thirty."

Struggling out from under the blanket, he stood up, grimacing at the wrinkled pants of his suit. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

It wasn't until he raised his head that he saw the look on her face - a scathing combination of irritation, frustration and confusion. Apparently his idiocy this morning was unfathomable.

"You agreed," she said slowly, "to go talk to Sweets with me today." She paused when she saw the blank expression on his face. "About Angela. And Hodgins."

_Shit. That._

Sighing, he dropped back down onto the couch. "C'mon, Bones. I'm hungover and need to go home. Can't we do it tomorrow or something? Or next week?"

_Or never?  
_  
Her response was to slap a folded bath towel against his chest. "Go shower."

He frowned, tossing the towel on the cushion next to him. "I'm not going to see Sweets in a wrinkled suit from last night. I have to go home."

He was shocked when the next thing to hit him was a pair of his jeans and a folded t-shirt. Frowning, he shook the t-shirt out. "Hey, I've been _looking _for this one. _You _had it?"

She shrugged, turning back towards the kitchen with her coffee, and he was again awarded with the sight of her ass and her shapely legs. "You probably left it here from that time your pipes exploded last winter."

_Oh, yeah._

"Or that time that fan of mine wanted to be cast as Andy in the movie and was stalking me," she called from the other room.

"_I'm Andy_," he muttered, standing up, the towel and clothes balled up in his arms. "Bones, seriously," he called as he made his way down the hall. "Do we really need to do this _right now?"_

She stepped out in front of him, holding out a mug of coffee. "Yes. Go shower. I'm going to get in, too, okay?"

He almost spit his coffee out. "_What?_" he gasped, practically strangling as it scalded his throat.

She looked at him in amazement, patting his back as he choked. "I'm going to get in the shower, too. I have the one in my bedroom, remember?"

"Right," he rasped, turning towards the hall bathroom. "The coffee was just... really hot."

* * *

The scalding water helped. Leaning his head against the cool tile, he let it wash over him as his eyes shut against the stream of water, feeling some of his hangover wash away. He'd managed to find a few ibuprofen in her cabinet, and had tossed them back with several large handfuls of cool water from the faucet. He didn't care that she'd insisted a hangover was merely dehydration - his head was pounding. Turning to reach for his coffee that he'd set on the sink, he used the broad expanse of his back to shield him while he drank, letting the water massage his sore muscles from a night on the sofa.

He felt a little weird about talking to their therapist - _ex-therapist, _he corrected - about Angela and Hodgins. He knew it meant a lot to Bones, and so he would go if it was what she really wanted. Still, something was pricking at him, rolling around in his gut, and he felt like he was giving into something somehow. She was reacting so strongly to the situation between her two friends, and he wasn't sure why. Of course she wanted Angela to be happy, but the woman didn't even _believe_ in marriage. Now she was in a near-panic over the idea of her two friends divorcing. Something was off with her.

Not to mention that talking to Sweets after a night of heavy drinking seemed like a less than stellar way to spend his day off. He was going to have a field day with this, gleeful that they'd returned for his help, even if it had nothing to do with the two of them at all.

The door suddenly opened, and the partner he'd been attempting not to picture in her own shower stuck her head in. "Are you done yet?"

"Bones!" he exploded, his free hand flying to his crotch in an attempt to cover himself. "What are you _doing?_"

"Checking if you're done yet," she explained, her voice maddeningly casual. "You've been in there forever - we're going to be late."

"I'm in the _shower_," he hissed.

"There's a curtain, Booth," she said calmly.

"Which is _transparent_!"

She sounded exasperated when she answered. "I'm not looking. Just hurry up, already. I want to leave in twenty minutes - Sweets had to fit us in as it is."

"_Yes, yes_," he argued. "I'll be out in a minute."

Thankfully, she got the hint and shut the door, and he let out a breath of relief. He wasn't sure why exactly she got him wound so tightly into knots, but she did. And he wasn't sure what frustrated him more - that she'd been standing only a few feet from him while he'd been stark naked, or that she'd acted as if were nothing.

* * *

Sweets sat silently, legs crossed, studying the pair across from him. Dr. Brennan perched on the end of the couch, straight up and down, more focused than he had ever seen her on something that wasn't… dead. Agent Booth was slouched back, looking like he may have stared at a solar eclipse for a few minutes too long. Sweets could tell the silence was getting to him by the way he fidgeted with his fingers nervously.

It was Brennan who finally spoke. "So… when can you see them?"

"Dr. Brennan," he said slowly, "You know… you can't _force _someone to come to therapy."

"Actually, _we _were forced," Booth said, tiredly raising his hand.

"No. You were mandated as a condition of you remaining partners. You had a choice to comply or not. To stay together or not."

"That wasn't a choice," Booth grumbled softly.

This was very interesting. In his relatively short time as a therapist, Sweets had seen clients invent all sorts of excuses to delay termination. They would generate new crises, suddenly discover 'repressed' issues, "drop in" unexpectedly "just to update him" after they had ended. But this..."fix our friends' marriage?" This was a new one.

"Dr. and Mrs. Hodgins... do they know you came to consult me about this?"

The two partners glanced at each other nervously. "No."

"And you don't believe they are capable of determining the appropriate course for their relationship?"

"Well obviously not," Brennan blurted out.

He had never seen her composure shaken like this. Whatever was happening between her colleagues was obviously tapping into some deep-seated issues of her own. Issues that _he _had been trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to tap into ever since he began counseling the unlikely pair. It never ceased to amaze him how real life was often more successful at bringing issues to the forefront than therapy was.

It was unethical for him to even consider coaching these two in how to interfere with their friends' marriage.

Unless...

Lance Sweets wasn't one to give up a golden opportunity when it was shoved in his face.

"You know, guys... even if I would agree to do this, it's unlikely that your friends are going to go along with it. It's hard to convince someone they need therapy when they have already discounted it as an option for themselves."

Brennan dropped her head to her hands tiredly. Sweets didn't miss the concerned look that her partner gave her, or the way he put a comforting hand briefly on her arm. _He wants to protect her from her own emotions. She has him believing that neither of them could handle all of that. _For the moment, he chose to keep the thought to himself.

"But..."

She looked up at him, a flash of hope in her eyes. Booth picked up on the change in her posture, and looked at him hopefully too.

"But, I have a thought... a possibility. I don't think you'll like it. It involves a bit of manipulation..."

"We'll do it," Brennan quickly agreed.

Booth spoke up concernedly. "Well, let's see what it is first, Bones." _Being cautious. He's a cop. Always expecting an ulterior motive. And in this case, he's right. Sort of._

Sweets would have to tread carefully on this one. "You could invite Angela and Dr. Hodgins to our therapy sessions. Not for their own work. But as consultants on yours."

Two sets of furrowed brows faced him. "What does that mean?" Brennan queried.

"You can tell your friends that you and Agent Booth are working on certain issues that you are struggling with."

"We don't have issues," Booth quickly interrupted, but was quickly shushed by the desperate woman beside him.

"You can ask them... as a favor to you... to come in and give their thoughts and opinions, based on their knowledge of you as individuals and partners. And... in observing how I choose to handle your issues, they may achieve some psychoeducation and some insight on their own, which would be helpful to them."

"Um. Does that work? When you go at it indirect like that?" the FBI agent said doubtfully.

_God, I hope so._

"Dude. Totally. Psychology is _all about _going at things indirectly. Just think about it... it will make the environment less hostile if they believe they are here for you, rather than to fix something wrong with them."

Brennan, for the first time, seemed hesitant. "So... we'd... invent issues of our own? That would be similar in some way to Ange and Jack's?"

_I don't have to invent squat, lady._

"Yeah, 'cause we already know that I don't have those issues," Booth proclaimed quickly. "My little guys... perfectly capable of sowing the field."

She seemed thrown off for a second, wrinkling her nose. "Ew."

"Issues that all couples have," Sweets interrupted. "You know. Communication. Compromise. Stuff like that."

"Except we're not a couple," Brennan explained.

_You're a couple of somethings..._

"You're partners. And you deal with one another every day. Things come up. And if addressing them here is a contribution to the quality of your friends' marriage... are you willing to do it?"

There was only a second of silence. "I'll do it," she promised.

"Agent Booth?"

He didn't speak.

"Booth," she hissed, nudging him. He was looking suspiciously at Sweets, and the young psychologist could feel him trying to get into his head.

_C'mon, tough guy. She wants this. Do it for her. Right now it's more important to her than disguising her emotions, maybe for the first time. You would really deny her because you're afraid of _yours? _You won't. You're not a coward. If you are, I've severely misjudged you._

"Booooth." Her face had that vulnerable quality to it that she usually only got when she was talking about her parents. He didn't blame Booth for being helpless in the face of it. It tugged on Sweets' heart a little bit, too.

"Fine," he said, a few of his facial muscles twitching as he pulled his sunglasses down from his forehead and crossed his arms again. "For Angela and Jack."

She gave him a grateful look that he could only see in his peripheral vision. But Booth noticed. Sweets knew he noticed.

"I'm glad you're back, guys."

"This better work, Sweets," Booth threatened.

_Oh, it'll work. _There was no way he was going to waste this opportunity.

* * *

He hesitated at the door to her office, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Her dark hair hung around her like a curtain as she bent over what was on her desk, and he suddenly wanted to run away. This was ridiculous. She'd see right through this.

"Angela?"

His partner's best friend jerked her head up, her eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. "Booth. Hi."

"Can I come in?"

She nodded, scooting her chair back slightly. "Yeah, of course." Nervously, she started to gather items on the top of her desk, sorting them into piles. As he sat down in the chair across from her, she glanced up at him briefly. "I'm sorry about last night, I -"

Instantly feeling awkward, he held up his hands. "No, no, Angela. This isn't about last night. Really, don't worry about that. That's not why I'm here."

_I'm such a liar. Guess I'll tack that on to my confession this Sunday._

"Oh." She paused. "I didn't realize there was an open case right now."

"There isn't. Listen, Angela -"

"I really am sorry about dinner. I mean, I dragged the two of you -"

"No, really," he interrupted. "It's no big deal. Everyone gets tense sometimes, I understand."

The silence hung awkwardly between them. He felt like he should say more, let her explain, but he felt guilty. He was there to manipulate her, and he wanted to get it over with.

She nodded, her head dropping to her lap. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Right."

"Listen," he said clearing his throat. "I have a favor to ask you."

She clasped her hands more tightly in her lap, and he felt another rush of sympathy for her, realizing that maybe, despite lying to her and bringing her to Sweets under false pretenses, that it would be the best thing for her.

"I - I need you to come to therapy with me and Bones."

She frowned. "You need me to what?"

* * *

"Sweets feels... like as hard as he tries, he can't infiltrate our culture, our world. And because of that, he's unable to truly understand and empathize what it's like to _be _us, so he's having trouble helping us with our..." She cleared her throat. "You know... issues."

Jack was looking at her strangely. "I thought you said that you and Booth didn't have any issues.

Shit. She had forgotten she had told them that. "Well... I mean... we _obviously _have issues." The words felt like glass leaving her lips. "Since, you know... we fight about... stuff. And have trouble talking about... things."

"Dr. Brennan. What does this have to do with me?" His face look drawn, and he looked much older now than he did... just a few months ago. It made her heart hurt.

"I'm asking... if maybe..."

"Spit it out, Dr. B." Hodgins rarely got impatient. It was unnerving her.

"If you could come to therapy with us? As like... a translator," she explained.

"Me? In the therapy room with you and Booth?" He laughed, a humorless sound. "That sounds... entertaining. I don't know, though. I kind of have a lot going on right now."

"Please? It would really help." She couldn't maintain his gaze. "Us. It would help us."

He was silent for a long moment, and she fretted. What if he didn't agree? Then, their carefully laid plan would mean nothing. Then finally..."I don't know how I can help. But if you think I can... suppose it would be nice to feel useful."

She couldn't help the overwhelming surge of gratitude she felt toward him at that second. Her arms were around him in a flash. "Thanks, Hodgins," she whispered. You have no idea what this means."

"No... no, I obviously don't." She could feel his bones through his lab coat. He was losing weight. She comforted herself, knowing that by this point, it was an emergency intervention. "Can I go back to work now?" he asked.

"Oh. Sure. Sorry." She awkwardly released him. "This Thursday at 4, okay?"

"Sure. Fine." He gave her one last odd look, before returning to the lab table, where Cam was busy scraping some sort of particulates off of a set of remains for him. As Brennan walked away, she overheard the first part of their conversation:

"What was that about?"

"Dunno. Booth and Dr. Brennan want me to come to therapy with them. But she was being all weird about it, so I felt like I was being asked to join some sort of weird menage a trois or something."

"Huh. Weird."

Yes. This was going to be weird, indeed.

* * *

Angela just blinked, her face nearly expressionless. "Oh."

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he nodded. "So... will you do it?"

Sighing, she picked up a pen, twirling it nervously in her fingers. "I mean, you know I'd never say no if it will help you and Brennan. You know that. But... do _you_ really think Sweets knows what he's doing, Booth? You really think I need to be there to... translate for her?" She looked at him hesitantly. "You know her really well."

"Well, I..." He paused, feeling guilt again wash over him. "I mean, _I_ understand her. But I don't think the kid understands me... understanding her."

She arched an eyebrow. "I think I followed that."

Feeling helpless, he gave her a pleading look. Part of him wanted to kill Bones for making him lie to Angela like this. But... she was hurting. He could see it. And as much as Sweets had the ability to annoy him, he'd also been right about quite a few things. And so he felt compelled to take this leap of faith, even if it meant he and Bones had to sit there simply gnawing on their fingernails while Sweets tried to repair a marriage. If it helped Angela and Hodgins work things out, Bones wouldn't stress out so much - which benefited _everyone._

"I trust him, Angela," he said quietly. "And my partnership with Bones is important, you know? We have one of the highest rate of closed cases in the bureau. We work well together. I'd hate it if they split us up just because they don't... understand our dynamic."

She nodded slowly, standing up and closing a file on her desk. "Then yes. I'll do it. You know I can't say no."

Relieved that he didn't have to return to Bones feeling like a failure, he impulsively hugged her, and she stiffened for only a moment before hugging him warmly. "Thank you, Angela."

She laughed slightly, the first laugh he'd heard since stepping into her office. "Sure, Booth. I know how important your... _partnership_ is."

_Oh, here we go._

Clearing his throat, he smiled his patented charming, thigh-dampening smile. "Yes, well... Bones and I need to stay together." Giving her one last grin, he turned on his heel and strode out of her office in search of his partner.

_Mission accomplished._


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: For you's: The next installment of our little therapyfic. Now, although Miss SSJL thinks the _therapy _is the good stuff, we know what you all are waiting for. And we promise that it is coming. All in good time. The payoff shall be sweet. So hang in there! Loves.**

* * *

"So how do we start?"

Her partner looked at her tersely from the driver's seat. "Can't we just wait until we get there? It's bad enough that we have to think about this stuff for a whole _hour. _We don't need to prolong it."

"We can anticipate that getting started will be the hardest part for them. I don't like not having a plan."

"The plan is to say 'we have some problems, blah blah blah,' and then let Sweets take over. That's his job, to fix them. Not ours."

She shifted in the seat. "We can _help, _Booth. We're the ones who suggested this."

He raised his eyebrows over his sunglasses. "We?"

It was easy to ignore his implication. Over the history of their partnership, she had trained herself to ignore a lot of things about Booth that might otherwise disrupt her equillibrium.

Like his naked body in her shower this morning.

Now, she went ahead smoothly. "What should we say we're having problems with?"

"I don't have problems with you, Bones."

"Okay. We'll say that we have problems talking to each other about certain topics. Because you are self-conscious and embarrassed and possibly feel inadequate when we discuss matters of a sexual nature."

"_Inadequate? _I do _not_ feel inadequate."

"Well, sometimes you -"

Her chest tested the seatbelt as the brakes were hit abruptly. "We are _not _saying that."

"Why not? The rest of it's true. We don't have to invent anything."

The car began gathering speed again as he began to recover. "The _reason _I change the subject when you talk about... _that..._ is because we're partners. _Professionally. _And sex is not a professional topic."

"Pie isn't a professional topic. And you have no problem talking about that," she pointed out.

"There are levels of unprofessionalness, Bones."

"Unprofessionalness isn't a word. Well, you're going to have to become more comfortable with the topic soon. Eventually, we'll be discussing the topic of infertility. The issue itself is sexually-laden."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him squirm. She wouldn't admit it if anyone called her on it, but there was some measure of satisfaction when she knew she was getting to him like this. Booth was a strong person. One of the only men who had ever challenged her. So when she could make him fidget the way she was doing now... it made her smile a little bit.

"I think it would be a good idea to _unladen_ it during therapy," he told her, clearing his throat.

Frowning, she considered this... and then sighed. "This is going to sound horrible... but I almost wish that it was Angela's difficulty in getting pregnant, rather than Hodgins. Then I could be a more of a help to them."

"In what way?" He glanced at her interestedly.

"I could be a surrogate."

He was openly gaping, and she had to smack his shoulder to get him to turn his attention back to the road. "You'd _do _that?"

"Of course," she said.

"But you have all _kinds _of reasons not to have kids."

"Having kids and carrying a baby are two separate processes, Booth. I could be a very good, healthy incubator for Ange and Jack's child."

She couldn't tell from the look on his face if he were impressed, or disturbed. "You make it sound so _clinical."_

She didn't argue with him.

"But... you're a good friend, Bones," he conceded.

"I'd do the same for you." She meant for it to come out matter-of-factly, but the words sounded shy to her own ears.

"Really?" he fairly squeaked.

"Sure. You're my friend. If you wanted to have a child and your... partner were unable to carry it... I'd do that for you."

"Bones. I'm touched." His voice sounded so full of emotion that now she was the one who was embarrassed.

"Well. It would be a bigger deal to do it for Angela," she told him, her face flushing a bit.

"Why? It's the same nine months. The same birthing process."

"It's the fertilization process. It would be _much _easier to get your sperm inside me than Angela's eggs."

When he talked again, she felt as if she firmly had the upper hand once more. "Bones. Do me a favor? And _never talk about my sperm again."_

Again, she smiled. "So then. Where do we start?"

* * *

As the elevator made it's way to the tenth floor, he leaned over, closer to his partner's ear, speaking quietly so as not to attract attention from the people around them. "You're not going to bring up the sex thing, are you?"

She turned to him, her brow knitting. "Why not? I thought we agreed."

His eyes widened, and he fought the urge to stomp his foot. "We did _not_ agree," he hissed. "I thought I told you not to talk about it!"

She looked at him, wide-eyed and innocent. "No, you told me to never bring up your sperm -"

He clapped his hand over her mouth abruptly as her words rang out through the elevator. He was acutely aware of several sets of eyes on him and his partner, and he slowly let his hand drop away. "Bones," he said slowly and carefully. "Just do me a favor and don't say anything else."

She raised an eyebrow, but surprisingly, she closed her mouth, facing straight ahead as they stopped at another floor, being pushed back further into the car.

He paused for a moment, jiggling his foot. "So what do we talk about?" he whispered. "How about the driving thing? That's an issue."

She didn't say anything, and he poked her gently. "Bones."

Turning slowly, she fixed him with a blank face, merely blinking. Confused, he arched a brow at her. "Bones?"

"You didn't want me to say anything else," she said calmly.

"About _sex_," he hissed, feeling flustered. "I didn't mean you couldn't _speak_._"_

She smiled. "So you do have a problem with talking about it - that's an issue."

"What is?"

"Sex."

His hand clapped over her mouth again, firmly. "Just _stop_."

Finally, the doors opened at their floor, and he stepped out, taking a huge breath. She was making him crazy.

Hodgins was already on the couch outside the office, flipping through a magazine. At the sight of them both, he stood up quickly, tossing it to the side. "Finally. I thought you guys bailed on me."

The second set of elevators suddenly arrived with a bell, and Angela stepped off. "Sorry I'm late, I just -"

She stopped abruptly, her face whitening. "...I had trouble parking..."

Booth's stomach dropped a bit as the couple eyed each other uncertainly. Clapping his hands together, he forced a smile on his face. "Well, we all ready?"

"I didn't know we'd both be here," Jack said quietly.

"Well, you both work with us," Booth said quickly, trying to herd the group towards the door. "Right?"

"And you're both our friends," his partner supplied quickly. "And so you can help us with our... issues."

"Right. Like the driving thing," he said abruptly.

Angela's brow furrowed. "The driving thing?"

"Booth thinks just because he's the man he gets to drive."

"_No - _it's because it's an FBI issued vehicle. Which is issued to _me_, not you. And because -"

"You dragged us here to help you work out who gets to drive?" Jack asked quietly.

Everyone just stared at each other for a moment, not speaking.

Clearing his throat, Booth was about to attempt to say something that would diffuse the tension when the door suddenly opened and Sweets popped his head out. "Guys? Hey! Come on in, let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

Sweets' eyes flickered from one uncomfortable-looking couple to the next. None of them were looking at each other, and the group's picture could have been in the encyclopedia next to the term "palpable tension." He wondered, not for the first time, what he had gotten himself into. He was a good therapist, yes. But he was _young_. This really required the touch of a more seasoned professional. Oh well. Sometimes, the best initiation was one by fire.

"Dr. and Mrs. Hodgins," he began. "Thank you for being here. After some discussion with your friends here, it was decided that another perspective might be helpful in resolving some of the issues that crop up in any partnership."

The two guests were leaning apart from one other, refusing to meet each other's eyes. Angela was twisting her wedding band nervously. These were _not _good signs.

"Yeah, well," Jack said shortly. "We'll do what we can."

"Is there any reason why we both have to be here?" Angela cut in, leaning forward. "I mean, both Jack and I see Booth and Brennan about the same amount. I can't imagine either of us would have anything unique to say."

Brennan threw Sweets a desperate look, which he quickly interpreted and addressed.

"From what I understand, your friendships with my clients here are _very _unique. Both of you have had experiences with them which give you insight. For instance, Dr. Hodgins, you were once trapped by a serial killer with Dr. Brennan." The man squirmed at the sound of his name. "And Mrs. Hodgins..."

"Angela," the pretty brunnette interrupted.

"Angela," he agreed. "You have assisted Agent Booth with the more human elements of his cases. You have both seen how these two operate."

They both still looked uncertain, so he added one more thing. "And it is clear that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan both admire you, and the relationship you have shared with one another as well as with them. They talk about it often."

The artist's face softened. "They do?" She glanced over at her friends.

"We really do," Brennan told her.

"Sometimes." Booth cleared his throat, while his partner shot him a look.

"So," Sweets interrupted before an eye-war could break out. "How about we begin with you, Dr. Hodgins. Why don't you describe how you view Brennan and Booth as partners? Both the strengths and weaknesses?"

Jack hesitated.

"I assure you that everything said in this room is confidential. And that your friends have agreed to consider everything you say objectively, so that it will not affect your friendships outside of this room."

"Fine," Hodgins sighed. His eyes flicked over to the partners across the room. "Booth and Dr. Brennan... are unlike any other. Opposite sides of a coin. But the _same _coin. I haven't figured out yet whether the problem... the reason why they have so much conflict sometimes... is because they are too different, or too similar."

"Can you explain a little more?" Sweets probed. This was actually very interesting... the bug guy was being more insightful than expected.

"They have different values. Different worldviews. Different lifestyles. And they believe in those things _so _strongly, that when they conflict with one another... it _really _conflicts. But it wouldn't even matter, if not for all the commonalities."

"Such as..."

"Uh. Well. They are both the best at what they do. Passionate about it. They are both extremely loyal, willing to give up a whole hell of a lot to stand up for what they believe in. They are both a little egotistical."

"Hey," Booth said indignantly.

"Dude. You wear a rooster on your belt buckle."

That shut up the F.B.I. agent.

Jack continued. "They are both stubborn. And I suppose... I see that as their biggest strength, as well as their greatest barrier to... a peaceful alliance." He shrugged. "So. I don't know how that works. When your strength and weakness are the same thing." He fell silent, and looked down at his hands.

"Thank you for your input. Guys, do you have any reactions to that?"

"No. That sounds right," Brennan said quickly.

"I'm not egotistical," Booth muttered under his breath. Sweets chose not to take on that particular battle right now.

"Mrs... Angela. Care to offer your thoughts?"

The artist had obviously prepared for this moment. "Booth and Bren don't work despite them challenging each other... they work _because _of it. That challenge is what allows them to respect one another. I personally don't see anything wrong with their fighting over their differences."

Booth gave her a winning smile across the therapy room.

"The problem is when they make up shit to fight about so they don't have to face and resolve the actual differences. Because if they did _that, _they'd have to acknowledge that they opened up, changed for one another. And for them, that's akin to shooting themselves in the head."

Booth's smile fell off.

"I see. So you, too, see an interaction that preserves the dynamics between the two partners, as well as distancing them. In order to maintain homostasis, they manufacture arguments."

"Sure," Angela said impatiently. "Whatever. The problem is that they are just both ridiculous."

"Ange," Brennan said, looking a little hurt.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie. I just... I'm not sure what the purpose of this is." She looked back at Sweets. "Look. Brennan and Booth work well together. The issues that they have are _not _professional ones. So I think it's _crap _that you or anyone else would threaten to split them up."

"Of course the issues are professional. If we had issues. Which we don't. Very much," Booth interjected at his partner's warning look.

Angela's anger was speaking volumes to Sweets. He needed to make a bolder move now. "So, two very stubborn, very different people, working together for a common cause. It sounds similar to another pair of colleagues in this room. A pair that actually, despite all the differences, built their relationship into a marriage."

"Angela and I are _not _Booth and Brennan," Jack said icily.

"Definitely not," Booth quickly agreed.

Surprisingly, it was the typically clueless Dr. Brennan who got Sweets' intention. "But...there are similarities."

"Which we aren't here to talk about. We're here to talk about you and Booth," Angela said.

"We're hear to talk about methods of resolution that Booth and Dr. Brennan might find helpful. Your experience could be relevant."

"We did _not_ sign up to talk about our own experience," Jack said.

"We certainly didn't," Angela agreed.

Despite the anger in their voices, Sweets was pleased by the use of the word 'we.' It was the first show of solidarity between the two he had seen since they got here. "It isn't the experience we are interested in, guys. It's the resolution that's important."

"Who says that we resolved _anything?" _Angela said, her voice raising an octave.

"There was a time that we resolved things," Jack said, softly.

"Yes well. Apparently, sex and laughter can't resolve everything."

"See?" Brennan said. "Maybe you can help us with that. We are both adult professionals, but Booth gets all defensive when the topic of his sperm comes up."

"Bones!" he hissed. "You promised!"

"Why does the topic of Agent Booth's sperm come up?" Sweets asked, off topic now, but too mystified to let that one slip.

"She brought up sex, Booth, not me. And since it's a topic that you obviously have problems with, and feel the need to censor _me _about, it may help to know how Angela and Jack have handled..."

"Not _everything _is about sex," he whispered loudly, concealing nothing.

"Nope. But some things are," Angela said bitterly, looking pointedly at the two. A look that they missed.

"You can say that again," Jack agreed morosely.

"It's just... if I want to talk about breastfeeding or sperm or ponyplay, I want to be able to without feeling as if I were doing something wrong!"

"And _I _want to feel like you respect me when I tell you those things make me _feel weird."_

Sweets felt as if he were watching a four-ring circus. "Guys..."

"Why would they make you feel weird?" she asked incredulously.

"It just _does, _okay?"

"Guys..."

They were ignoring him, arguing amongst themselves. This was rapidly getting out of his control. If it were ever _under _his control. He tried to remember what his mentors would have told him about this, what the books he read would have said. He couldn't remember any of it. He was lost. Luckily he was saved by someone who had no more training than an undergraduate psychology class.

_"Sweeties."_

Booth and Brennan stopped at the sound of their friend's voice, turned towards her. She spoke quietly.

"You have to open yourself up to a new perspective. A new way of looking at each other. And the world. That's how Jack and I made it to the place we did."

Her husband was looking at her intently.

"You know what I see? I see your ability to hear each other..._ really _hear each other, and be honest with each other... is blocked by pride. You have to be smart. You have to know when pride is helpful...or when it is just getting in the way. And fucking up everything." There were tears glistening in her eyes.

"Angela..." Brennan said, faltering, not sure what to say, or who they were talking about anymore.

Sweets recovered from his momentary paralysis. "Angela has a point. Sometimes, we get so busy generating our next defense, planning how to prove that we are right, that we lose the cognitive... and _emotional_... ability that it takes just to listen to and hear our partner."

The artist stood suddenly. "I have to go." She swiped at her eyes. "I... I don't think I'm being very helpful."

Jack stood too. "I'll go with you."

"You don't have to."

"No. I want to."

"I'm sorry, Booth," Angela said softly. "Brennan."

"It's okay. You can feel free to leave. Thank you for your perspectives," Sweets told them. They nodded, and filed out of the room.

Brennan looked at the doctor with a wild-eyed, angry gaze after the door clicked shut. "You let them go! You weren't supposed to let them go. You were supposed to help them!"

"Bones..." Booth tried.

Her head snapped around. "Don't even try. This is partly your fault. If you just would have admitted to having issues with sex..."

"_My _fault? I'm only _here _because of you! I don't need this..."

She crossed her arms. "Next time, don't do me any favors if you don't plan on actually playing along and being helpful."

Sweets interrupted. "Guys. You did great. Perfect."

Two sets of disbelieving eyes looked back at him. "What the hell do you _mean? _That was a disaster!" Booth exclaimed. "Nothing got resolved. Nothing at all."

"I don't think so. They arrived apart. And left together. That's an excellent start."

Considering silence filled the room.

"So. How about I teach you some reflective listening exercises. So next session, you can show Angela and Dr. Hodgins how it works?"

They blinked. Then nodded slowly.

Sweets smiled.

_I am so good._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: You think Sweets is an idiot? A genius? Should be reported to the ethics board? Let us know!**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Some therapy-at-home fun to get your weekend started right. Loves! Keep letting us know what you think!**

* * *

Sighing heavily, Booth set his fork down next to his empty plate, raising his eyes to meet his partner's. "Can't we just say we did and... not?"

The look she gave him said otherwise, and he watched her as she slowly collected their dishes from dinner. "Go sit in the living room," she instructed. "I'm going to get the stick."

He practically choked on his beer. "The _stick_?"

She frowned. "Yes, remember? The listening stick. Sweets said it would be helpful."

"Sweets is an infant," he muttered.

"Just go sit down."

Grumbling, he made his way into the living room, but when she joined him and saw him seated on the couch she shook her head. "Uh uh. On the floor, facing each other."

"Bones this is ridicu - _what_ is _that?"_

She held up the large wooden spoon she was holding, the handle intricately carved. "What? I thought we could use this. I don't actually have a stick."

He rolled his eyes. "This is so unnecessary."

She dropped down across from him, sitting cross-legged. "You said you'd do this, Booth. You said you'd help with Angela and Hodgins. We have to be able to show them we've done this."

He looked around the room, shrugging. "Bones," he whispered conspiratorially, as if letting her in on a secret. "They aren't here."

"Just take the spoon."

Plucking it from her hand, he sighed. "What are we talking about again?"

"Our issues."

"You said we didn't _have_ issues. Remember? We made them up for Angela and Hodgins."

"Well, you do. The sex thing, for one."

He clenched his teeth. "Fine. We'll talk about why you can't drive."

"Remember what Sweets said - about "I" statements."

Closing his eyes he counted slowly to ten. She was infuriating.

"Okay," he said finally. "You -"

"That's not an "I" statement."

He glared at her. "_Fine. _I _feel_ that when you bitch at me about -"

"Booth."

"_What?"_

She sighed like he was an idiot. "Were you even _listening_ to Dr. Sweets?"

He rubbed his face wearily with one hand, the spoon clenched tightly in his other fist. "Bones. This is so stupid."

She just fixed him with a look, and he took another deep breath. "Okay, fine. Look. I _feel_ that when you ask me if you can drive, you're making it about gender and about my supposed 'alpha male tendencies' -"

"Because you _are_ -"

"_Hey_!" he said quickly, shaking the spoon in front of her nose. "_Who _has the stick? You can't talk!"

"Sorry."

"_Anyway..._ I feel like you're trying to make it an issue about gender and things like that, when in reality, Bones, it's very simple. It's my car. Issued by the FBI to _me," _he said, gesturing at his chest with the spoon. "And _yes, _you are my partner. But _you_ do not work for the FBI. And it would be irresponsible of _me_ to have you driving a vehicle I'm responsible for."

She seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

He frowned. "Okay?"

"Yes, okay. That was quite logical. I won't bother you about it anymore."

He looked down at the utensil in his hand incredulously, wondering for a moment if the stupid thing actually had some sort of magical power. That had been a three year argument. Now, after two seconds with the "listening stick" she simply said _okay?_

She reached across from him, plucking the spoon from his hand. "My turn."

"Fine. Just don't bring up -"

"I feel that you limit our personal relationship when you continually shush me in regards to certain topics - such as sex."

He stared at her, slack-jawed. She just wouldn't quit. "Bones -"

"I have the stick."

He sat back on his heels, clamping his mouth shut and crossing his arms across his chest. "Fine."

She smiled. "As I was saying, I _feel_ that when I bring up certain topics, you limit our ability to be open and honest with one another. I think that I've been very good about opening up with you about things that make me uncomfortable, such as my childhood, but whenever I bring up something that makes _you _uncomfortable, you snap at me like I'm being inappropriate."

She paused, and he waited a moment for her to continue. She didn't.

Snatching the spoon from her hand, he cleared his throat. "Bones. I _feel_ that there are certain topics that are appropriate for work, and there are topics that are not. And I think breast-feeding and who I happen to possibly be sleeping with and who _you_ happen to be sleeping with are not!"

She waited for approximately three seconds before yanking the spoon out of his hand. "But I thought we were friends, Booth."

"We _are."_

"And friends don't talk about those types of things?"

He paused, trying to figure out what he could possibly say. Because the truth was, she was right. Friends did talk about sex. And they were friends. But talking about sex with her meant _thinking_ about sex with her, and that just couldn't happen. He'd never get any work done if that were the case. Like now, for example. He'd put her name and sex in the same sentence and couldn't even answer a simple question. _This was why, dammit._

He reached for the spoon. "Friends don't talk about things like that when they're working."

She grabbed it from his hand immediately. "But that's almost the only time we _are_ together. And I think you're just using work as an excuse to avoid the issue. And if it's because you feel inadequate or -"

Oh, _what?_

He practically lunged at her to get the spoon back, and she dodged him, holding it close to her chest. "I'm not done!"

He flat-out ignored her, snapping it out of her hands and tossing it one handed past him over the back of the couch. "Forget the damn stick!"

"Booth! That's not actually a stick! That's a three-hundred year old artifact from Uruguay!"

"Quit suggesting I feel inadequate!"

"Then quit getting so worked up when I do!"

He dropped down suddenly on all fours, quickly bringing his body towards her so that their faces were only inches apart. "I," he said slowly, his voice low, "do _not_ feel inadequate when it comes to sex... you got that?"

She inhaled sharply, her eyes locking with his, and he suddenly realized that maybe he shouldn't have tossed the stupid ancient spoon over the couch. Things were getting a little out of hand.

* * *

As much as it pleased her to see him all beside himself, because of _her, _because she got to him... it was these moments that unnerved her. The fact was, when they picked at each other like this, it scraped away the layers of social niceties and formality that characterized their professional relationship. Despite the fact that this is exactly what she intended, the rawness of what was underneath those layers always made her stomach flip a little when she saw it. She swallowed heavily.

"Fine then. It's not about inadequacy. It's... something else."

His eyes, so close to hers, flicked downwards for a second, as if just realizing just how much of her personal space he had encroached upon. They raised again slowly. "Thank you." Slowly, he eased back onto his haunches. "I'm... sorry for throwing your stick."

"Thank you," she returned, appreciative of his apology. "Although it's not a stick. It's a..."

"Yeah, I get it."

Having not achieved her intended result by picking, she tried honesty. "I just want us to be able to talk about difficult things without fighting about it. Because if we can do it, that means that Angela and Jack can do it. And if they can do it, then they can figure things out together. Once things are figured out, we don't ever have do this again, okay?"

Booth sighed, easing back to sit on the floor again and rubbing at his temples. "That's all well and good, Bones. But to help Angela and Jack, we have to get them back into the therapy room again. And after the last fiasco, it might be easier said than done."

She hadn't considered that... she had left Sweets' office feeling more optimistic after he had suggested the session was a step in the right direction. But what if Angela and Jack _did _refuse to return, now that they knew it was a group effort? What if this whole thing had only made it worse, and now they were fighting over the damn Uruguayan spoon for nothing? Suddenly, she felt incredibly sad, and more than a little angry. Jumping to her feet, she fished behind the couch to retrieve her artifact.

"You know what? I think your heart isn't really in this. I think you never wanted Ange and Hodgins together, and that you don't really care if they fall apart now." She knew she was being spiteful, but she didn't care at the moment.

Booth looked bowled over. "You have got to be kidding me."

The spoon felt hot in her hands from their earlier struggles with it, and she squeezed it in frustration. "Why don't you just admit it and get it over with? I've been alone in trying to do this from the beginning."

"How can you say that?" He stood angrily. "How can you say that when I'm _here? _How could you think I don't care about Angela and Jack's relationship?"

"Because of the _line_," she shouted, throwing the spoon at him, surprising herself and apparently him as well, judging by his dumbfounded expression as he caught the artifact against his chest. "You have made it _quite _clear how you feel about coworkers having a romantic relationship, and you _obviously _thought that their relationship was doomed from the start." Hot tears pricked her eyes, and she didn't even know where her words were coming from, but they were rolling from her lips unchecked by her common sense. "They were _so close _to proving you wrong. And you _hate_ being wrong, so don't tell me that part of you isn't satisfied knowing that these _issues _are going to pull them apart. Knowing that people who are so different just can't make it work. No matter how hard they try. No matter how much they..." A tear escaped onto her cheek, surprising her out of whatever she was going to say. She hadn't known she was crying, and now she was just embarrassed. Embarrassed looking at his torn face, his expression vacillating between anger at what she was accusing him of, and empathy at her obvious fear about what was happening in the most important relationships in her life. "Don't you dare hug me, Booth."

"I'm going to hug you, Bones."

"No, you are not."

"I have the stick."

"The stick doesn't work for hugs."

"How do you know? Sweets doesn't get to make all the rules."

"Damn you," she said with a shuddering sigh, as he wrapped his arms around her and she sunk into him, and he held the spoon in his hand behind her back.

"There are always exceptions, Bones," he told her softly. "I made one for Angela and Jack a long time ago. I want them to be okay. Just like you do. I want us all to be okay."

For whatever reason, having him erase his line for Ange and Jack comforted her more than anything he had done thus far.


	7. Chapter 6

_**A/N: well hellooooo to youuuuu all... happy memorial day and all that. we hope you had a lovely day of picnics and noodle salads and sunshine. as a little holiday gift, we would like to present you with the next chapter. we hope you like it. ;) xoxo **_

* * *

The mountain of paperwork in front of him had soured his mood, and he sighed as he glanced at the clock on his desk. He contemplated calling Bones to see if she'd lend a hand, but when he reached for his phone, his hand hesitated over the number two on the keypad. Last night had left a strange feeling in his stomach, and he wasn't entirely sure what to say to her. He'd been so surprised to see the tear streaking down her cheek in the midst of her yelling, and he'd suddenly realized how important it was that her friends stay together. The "why" was still eluding him a bit, since she was so against marriage in the first place, but clearly she wanted them both to be happy, and if marriage was what they believed in, he guessed she would support them.

The truth was, the idea of Angela and Hodgins divorcing left him feeling somewhat nauseous as well. He'd originally been somewhat skeptical when the two had first gotten together. Work relationships were always a risk, especially when one found oneself in highly dangerous case work. Still, over the year and a half that he'd observed the two of them, something inside him had slowly changed.

They were good together - _really _good. Angela gave Jack perspective, gave him a wider view of the world outside the scope of the lab. And Jack grounded Angela, reminding her that sometimes it was good to grow roots and make long-term commitments. The two... what was the word Sweets had used for him and Bones?

Complement. Yeah, they complemented one another - it was obvious, and Booth himself hadn't been immune to the way the two lit up a room when they were together. They kept one another on their toes, challenged one another. They were, in their own way, a perfect match.

Sighing, he snapped his phone shut again, dropping it onto his desk. He didn't need to call her. She'd probably just start insisting that they come up with a way to get their co-workers back to therapy - or make him do more "listening exercises" with that stupid spoon from Uzbekistan or wherever the hell it was from.

"Booth."

Glancing up, he saw his partner in the doorway of his office. He pushed back his chair, frowning, dropping his pen on a stack of papers as he studied her face. "What is it? Something wrong?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

He looked at her warily. "Why...? You're not dragging me to a French restaurant again, are you?"

"No."

"Oh." He crossed his ankles under his desk and his arms across his chest. "I'm not doing more listening exercises."

She sighed. "No, no. I just wanted to see if you could have a drink."

"Oh." Glancing at the stack in front of him, a beer suddenly sounded fantastic. They generally stuck to having drinks _after_ a case was completed, but at the moment, he didn't care what her reason for inviting him was. "Sure, I guess."

"Great, can you call Hodgins and ask him?"

He blinked. "What?"

She looked impatient, and fixed him with that look she often got when she assumed he was being deliberately obtuse. "To ask him for a drink." She paused. "That is something men _do_, right? Get drinks?"

"You want Hodgins to come with us?" he asked, confused.

She frowned. "Booth, I want the two of _you _to go. And if you get a drink, you can -"

"No way, Bones. Uh uh."

"Why not?"

"_Because_," he said, instantly frustrated with her. This was turning into an obsession.

She simply waited, blinking, and when he didn't speak, she raised an eyebrow. "Because...?" she prompted.

"Just _because," _he repeated. _Because I'm not your husband, dammit. Because I don't understand why to keep you happy I have to keep DOING crap like this left and right. Because faking the need for therapy was one thing, but constantly harassing and coercing them into said fake therapy is quite another._

__

And because I don't blame Angela for being frustrated with Jack and his constant need to... rationalize - I feel her pain.

"That's your rationale?" she asked, clearly annoyed. "Just because?"

_Bloody hell._

"Bones," he said wearily. "What is it you think I can accomplish, here, besides having a semi-awkward drink with him? What am I supposed to try and convince him?"

She dropped down into the chair across from him. "That we need them there in the therapy room. And that while you understand why he's acting the way he -"

"But I _don't_," he interrupted. "Have you even talked to him, Bones? He's completely unwilling to consider alternatives. Poor Angela suggested all sorts of options, including adoption, and he shut her down on all fronts!"

"So you won't do it."

"No."

She jumped up, her eyes flashing. "Why not?"

"I just told you why not!"

"You said _because. _That's not a real answer."

He stood up himself, setting his palms flat on his desk, leaning across it towards her. "You're driving me insane, Bones. I've gone along with this idea of yours and that squirt of a therapist we're forced to go see, but I'm not going to _drag_ Hodgins back to therapy. And at some point we have to just -

"What?" she asked, her eyes blazing. "Give up? Is that it?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he said, his voice low and laced with warning.

She glared at him. "So I was wrong? You weren't going to say that?"

He felt a sudden flash of anger. "I didn't say _give up. _Why do you keep assuming I don't _care?_ I _do _care. But i think we need to be realistic! As much as we both want them to work things out, we can't do it for them. They need to want it, too!" he snapped, his voice steadily rising.

"They _do_," she shot back, her hand suddenly snaking out to grab his tie tightly in her fist, yanking him forward until they were practically nose to nose. "They're just being stubborn and refuse to see what's really going on!"

"Which is _what?"_

"That they _love each other!"_

Her face was so close to his he could feel her breath on his cheek, and he swallowed thickly. He couldn't seem to help his eyes from falling to her mouth, parted slightly in her anger, and he suddenly yanked himself free from her clutches, dropping back into his chair. "I know they do," he said quietly. "I'm not questioning that, Bones."

She bit her lip, taking a step back from the desk, a flush on her cheeks, suddenly quieting. "Please, Booth. Just have a drink with him. He's upset and hurt and I think he just needs someone to... talk to. And if, while you're there, you happen to bring up therapy, maybe you can tell him how important to us it is that he comes back."

"I'm not going to lie to him."

"It's not a lie," she whispered, suddenly looking more than a little lost and quite vulnerable - a look he was never able to resist. _Damn her._

"Fine," he muttered, standing up slowly. "Fine. I'll have a drink with Hodgins."

Her eyes brightened as she came around his desk. "Really?"

"Really," he sighed.

She surprised him with a spontaneous and brief hug. "Thank you, Booth."

He shook his head. This woman was going to be the death of him. "Yeah, fine," he said tiredly. "But then you have to talk to Angela - take her shoe shopping or something."

"Shoe shopping? What does that have to do with therapy?"

"It's something women do, right?" he mocked. "Shoe shop?"

Her eyes narrowed. "That's incredibly sexist of you to suggest."

"And it wasn't sexist of you to assume Jack and I would go to a bar?"

"I _know _you and Jack like beer. You don't know know that Ange and I like shoes."

He rolled his eyes, dropping back into his chair and picking up the office phone. "Fine, whatever. Talk to her over coffee. Talk to her while you identify remains - I don't care. Just get her in that therapy room, alright?" he muttered, suddenly switching strategies, realizing it was useless to fight Temperance Brennan on this issue. "Because the sooner we get them in there..."

_The sooner we can get ourselves out._

* * *

"Hey, Ange?"

"Yeah?" her friend had asked distractedly on the phone.

"We going to look at shoes tonight?"

"Well, yeah. It's a Tuesday."

Booth didn't need to know about their Tuesday after-work tradition.

Now, they were wandering down the rows at the Shoe Addict boutique, and Brennan was trying to decide how to transition from discussing stilettos to discussing therapy. "So," she said cautiously. "Was everything okay after you guys left the other night?"

Angela glanced up from the pair of Mary Jane wedges she was examining. "Fine. We just went home and talked for a bit."

"Talked, huh?" That would appear to be a good sign.

"A pretty dirty trick, Sweetie. Having us both show up at Sweets' office like that."

"Trick?" she asked guiltily. She and Booth had been a little manipulative in getting their friends to therapy, but she couldn't downright lie to Ange. Instead of getting defensive, she decided to change the topic. "We really appreciated you being there. It helped a lot."

"You have to be kidding me. Ooh, aren't these adorable?" Pulling up her pant leg, Ange extended her calf and flexed her foot.

"Very flattering. Yes. After you suggested that we work on our listening skills, we practiced those things. We were actually more successful than usual. The other night, we made the process of communication and listening more concrete by using a listening stick, and..."

"A _what? _You did _not _just say you used a listening stick."

"It wasn't a _real _stick." Angela could make _anything _sound dirty.

"I see. And what did you learn when you held Booth's stick?" Angela was grinning madly will she unfastened the strap around her ankle.

She would _not _let her friend deflect like this. "It was a very useful exercise. In fact, I could even see how it might be helpful for other situations... like, non-work-related situations..."

"I see." Angela's eyes were firmly pasted on her feet as she fiddled with the shoes.

"Yes. We resolved the driving situation very quickly."

"So. There's no reason why a listening stick couldn't be used to help Jack accept his infertility, yes?" Her sideways glance at Brennan was half-full of amusement, and half-full of sadness.

Were they that transparent? She squirmed. "It meant a lot to me that you came to help me and Booth. You had ideas as good as what Sweets had, and... and I want you there again. Please?"

Her friend sighed. "Bren, this whole thing is sooo uncomfortable... for all of us. I really don't think..."

"Change isn't always comfortable, Ange," she said, quoting Sweets. "That doesn't mean it's not necessary." She hadn't even been paying attention to the shoes she had pulled off the rack... they were merely a prop tonight for this conversation. Now, looking down at her feet, she was surprised by the red patent leather heels staring back at her. Very un-Brennan-like. "Hmm. A little much."

Ange's eyes bugged out. "Holy good God, woman. _Hot_. You must buy them."

"Yes. I can wear them to my night-job as a prostitute." Standing, she wobbled a little bit, laughing a little at her atypical lack of coordination.

"I'll tell you what," the artist bargained. "You buy those shoes and wear them out tonight. And I'll come back to therapy with you and Booth this week."

She eyed her friend curiously. "That deal makes no sense. What do shoes have to do with therapy?"

"Nothing." Pulling her own sandals back on, Angela exhaled loudly. "This whole therapy thing, Brennan... it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. And I hope to high Heaven that you aren't having Jack and I come there for any other reason except it being helpful to you. But... for some reason that I don't understand, it _does _seem to be doing something for you and Booth. I mean, the fact that the man even _touched _something you are calling a 'listening stick'... that's big. So, if my supervision makes for a more fruitful therapeutic experience for you two... who am I to deny you?" Lifting the discarded red heel, she dangled it in front of Brennan's nose. "However, that doesn't mean I don't want you to do something for me in return."

Snatching it from Ange's hand, she smiled gratefully at her. "Have I told you lately how glad I am that you are my friend?"

Angela slung an arm around her shoulder and rested the side of her head against hers. "Yeah, yeah. You should be glad I put up with your brilliant, far-too-gorgeous ass."

"I am," Brennan agreed, feeling a tug at her heart. Ange was _so _good for her.

"So," her friend said, squeezing her shoulder one last time before pulling away. "You go pay for those. Then we are going out."

She didn't feel like she could deny Angela anything. As the cashier rung up her purchase, she contemplated her next move. If anything about what she and Booth were doing could help Angela be happier in any way...it was worth all the uncomfortable feelings that this was stirring up for her.

* * *

__"Dude. What's this really about?"

Lifting his glass from the bar, he peeled the damp napkin from the bottom, balling it up wetly in his fingers. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice raised to be heard over the large crowd. They were in a place that Jack had sworn was just a bar but was turning out to be more of a dance club. The floor behind them was full of squirming bodies.

Hodgins raised an eyebrow, reaching for his beer. "You called me and asked me for a drink."

"So? I wanted a drink. I had a long day."

"You've never asked me out for one before."

He sighed. Why was it that everyone he worked with constantly felt the need to examine his motivations like evidence? Like he was a damn skeleton on the table? Or a piece of dirt? "I just thought you'd feel like a drink, Jack," he said wearily.

"Brennan put you up to this, didn't she?"

Guilt raced through him, and he briefly considered telling him the truth. But then he pictured Bones, all weepy-eyed - or _worse, _making him play some stupid listening game with a spoon - and thought better of it.

"Bones doesn't dictate my social life."

"Whatever, man."

He took a sip of his drink, wincing.

"She talked you into therapy."

"She didn't _talk_ me into therapy. We were required to go by the bureau."

"Yeah, but you guys said at dinner you were done - and now you're still going. No way that was _your_ idea."

Sighing, he turned towards the man seated next to him. "Look. Bones is my partner. And we work well together, and what we do is important. So I'm willing to do a lot to make sure that still happens - including therapy," he muttered. "And listening exercises."

Jack laughed, reaching for a napkin. "I'm sorry, _what?_"

_Dammit._

He sighed. "Listening exercises. It's something Sweets came up with. We have this listening stick, and whoever holds it is the only one who gets to talk. It's supposed to force the other person to just listen and -"

"I think I get it."

"Look, mock me all you want - it worked, alright? She dropped the driving thing." He shook his head, still surprised by how agreeable she'd been - _at first. _"We've been fighting about that for years," he said under his breath. "And just like that, she let it go."

"Really?" Hodgins looked incredulous. "She's going to just let you drive?"

"Apparently." He considered this for a moment. "I wonder if that would work with the gun thing."

"What gun thing?"

"She keeps trying to get her hands on my gun."

Beer shot out of Jack's mouth at his comment, and Booth reached for a napkin irritably.

"Man, Angela's not wrong about you two," Hodgins laughed, shaking his head. "You're both priceless."

"Shut up. You know what I meant."

"Maybe you could just have her hold the stick and she'd stop trying to reach for your gun."

"You're a real asshole, you know that?"

Hodgins just laughed easily, and Booth realized he hadn't seen his mood this light in weeks - which meant he was doing his job. At least half of it, anyway.

"Look, it works, alright? You should try it sometime," he muttered.

"Right," Hodgins said, sobering. "Just like we should 'try therapy', too? That was why you two dragged us in there the other day, right?"

He nearly choked on his drink. "We told you why we wanted you there."

"Right."

Spinning around on his stool so that he now faced the crowd behind him, Booth sighed. "Jack, Bones and I... we need to work through some communication... issues. And having you and Angela there was helpful. Maybe it's just easier for us to hear it from people we know and trust, and not a seven-year old psychiatrist, alright?"

Hodgins seemed to consider this, taking a sip of his beer and swiveling his own stool to watch the dancing and gyrating crowd. "I don't know."

"Just consider coming back again, alright? It would mean a lot to Bones. She wants us to - communicate better."

"You do realize you two act like you're married, right?"

He frowned. "We act like partners, Jack."

"Um. She's dragging you to couple's therapy to learn how to communicate."

He opened his mouth to say something when a flash of long leg caught his eye. A slice of a woman's hip appeared for an instant in the crowd, undulating to the music, and he again followed the line of leg upwards, his mouth going dry as it reached the edge of a skirt. "What?" he mumbled.

Jack followed his line of sight, chuckling. "Something catch your eye?"

"No," he muttered, still trying to find the owner of the extremely fine pair of legs. It had been a long time since he'd thought about picking anyone up at a bar, bringing anyone home. But Jack's words had left him on edge. Because he _wasn't_ married, dammit. Not to Bones or anyone else, for that matter. And he could check out a woman if he damn-well wanted to. He could take her home, too. His mind drifted to the idea of a half-drunken encounter, stumbling through his house or hers, mouths attached, hands sliding over skin and under the edge of her skirt. Bending her over a table, pinning her up against a wall...

"Dude, who are you _watching?"_

The crowd was frustrating him. Still unable to see the woman, he cocked his head to the side, and was at least awarded with another view of her slim, shapely calf. A man's body was in front of hers, blocking his view, and he saw the guy dance closer to the woman - maybe it was her date. The guy's hand fell on her shapely hip, and he frowned.

"So you'll come back?" he asked more loudly, his eyes still glued to the legs.

"Man, I don't know. It made Angela and I kind of uncomfortable. I mean, how long are we going to be expected to go with you guys?"

_Good question._

"Just come one more time, alright? We'll go from -"

"Is that my _wife?_"

His head shot up, his eyes sliding away from the woman he'd been following. "What?"

"Over there!" Hodgins said, pointing in the same vicinity, and for a moment Booth had a flash of panic, wondering if he'd been fantasizing about picking up _Angela_. But suddenly he saw a handful of her dark hair, and realized she was next to the woman in question. He breathed a sigh of relief. He would have had to avoid Angela for a month after the thoughts he'd been having, not to mention extra time in the confessional.

And that's when the crowd shifted, and as Hodgins stood up next to him, he saw the woman in question.

It was Bones.

_Holy shit._

About to turn back to the bar and order another drink, his face flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and a rush of adrenaline, he suddenly saw the man's hand sweep over his partner's hip and cup her ass, and he plunked his empty glass down heavily on the bar, jumping to his feet. "Let's go say hi to them, huh?"

* * *

Brennan was vaguely surprised by the raucousness of the place. After all, it was a Tuesday evening. _Don't these people work? _she wondered as Angela took her hand and twirled her in a circle. She laughed lightly and held onto her friend's shoulder. These shoes took some getting used to. Feeling another hand on her hip, she looked over her shoulder annoyed. What was it about two women dancing together that made men think they needed help? She had already had to shove off two.

"_Bones_," a familiar voice hissed into her ear. "This is _not _shoe shopping."

"Booth! Imagine seeing you here!" Angela shouted brightly over the music. "Come dance wi... Jack." She stopped moving.

"Hey, Angie."

Oh, God. She should have asked Booth where he was going to take Hodgins for drinks. She would never have guessed it would be a place like this. Didn't seem... _manly _enough.

"I was doing what we talked about," she whispered loudly to her partner.

"Taking Angela out so she can get felt up by other guys?" he whispered back. "And how can you even _walk _on those things?" he asked, looking pointedly at her feet.

"She's not getting felt up," she replied, irritated, taking a swig of beer from the bottle in her hand.

"That makes _one _out of the two of you," he said, pointedly looking at the surrounding men.

Jack leaned across them to speak to Angela. "Hey, you want to go to the bar and get a drink while these two decide who's getting felt up?"

Damn. She didn't think they were whispering _that _loudly.

Angela nodded, and followed her husband to the bar. Booth grabbed Brennan's hand and pulled her off the dance floor, and into a dark corner by the coat check. "This is bull, Bones. You make me suffer through a drink with this guy, trying to convince him to come to therapy, and you're out living it up with his wife?"

She scowled at him, leaning close so he could hear her over the pounding bass of the music. "For your information, _I _have already accomplished what we discussed. Angela is coming to therapy on Thursday."

"She's going to _need _therapy after watching her best friend getting sexually assaulted in this place."

She was mystified as to what had gotten him this worked up. "Hey, _this _is how I got her to come to therapy. Come out tonight, and buy these shoes..."

"Ha! So you _do _like shoes," he shouted triumphantly.

"My affinity for shoes is _not _relevant to this situation. Why are you so angry with me?"

His jaw clenched, and he crossed his arms over his Jimi Hendrix tee-shirt. "I am _not _angry. And for your information, Hodgins has also agreed to come to therapy again. So our work here is done. We can all go home, and you can put on some clothes, and Sweets can do his thing and everyone will be happy."

Glancing over to the bar, she saw her friends sipping at their drinks, heads together in a serious conversation. This was _not _the time to try to pry them away. "No way, Booth. You're the one always telling me I need to get out more. Now I am, and you're trying to get me to go home? Because what, you have a problem with my wardrobe?"

He raised his voice. "I just want to get this shit figured out so we can all be normal again!"

The man was frustrating her. "Well, maybe what _you _want isn't the most important thing right now."

"You have no _idea _what I want!" he almost shouted in her face. Startled by his intensity, she took a quick step back, forgetting about the stilt-like heels she was wearing. She stumbled back and leaned forward to compensate, still not quite becoming secure in her footing. Her hands clasped around his biceps for support at the same time as he firmly took hold of her waist.

She hated being saved like this, even from a sure pratfall, and she looked him defiantly in the eyes, ready to tell him that she _was fine_, she didn't need his support. Her words died, however, when she saw the molten heat in his eyes. Instead of recovering, her legs seemed to weaken further, and she sank against the hardness of his chest. His gaze dropped to her lips, to her eyes, and back down again.

_Oh God. What was happening? _Her mind should have been racing, but it seemed to have been stunted, her thoughts drowned by the vibrating thumps of the music and the frantic pounding of her own heart. Her lips parted. Her body, submitting to whatever the hell was happening to it, became pliant. His face was close to hers... so close... closer still... she could smell his cologne, the Guinness on his breath. She could practically taste him.

Then the music cut off, and the sudden quietness rung in their ears.

"Last call!" shouted the bartender. The pounding beat began again. A reality check. It was late. It was time to go home. Her body stiffened, uprighted itself. She stepped back, surefooted this time, staring at her partner. He was staring back, as if awakening from his own fugue. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder to the bar.

"Booth. They're gone." Slowly, he turned.

"They left us here?" He shook his head. "Why do they keep doing that?"

"It's good. They're together." She still felt like she was in a haze. Had she had that much to drink? No. She hadn't even finished her one beer. "I guess... you need a ride?"

He was backing away from her as if she were dangerous. Which, in these heels, she apparently was. "Yeah," he said, cautiously.

"Well." She cleared her throat. "I guess our work here really _is_ done."

Nodding, he replied. "I guess."

So why did it feel as if they were barely getting started... or, that it was an entirely _new _game they were playing?

* * *

_**hee hee... do y'all hate us? we knooooooow. we're so mean. but it's just a little taste of what's coming... (and yes, we were being cheeky right there. :))**_


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Hey, crazy kids. hope you all enjoyed your three day holiday weekend. We've been busy over here at 5 Steamboats... lots o' shippin' going on over here. :) And yet, we still wanted to make time in our busy little lives for you folks cause we just love you so damn much. And so, without further ado, we present you with the next installment. **_

_**p.s. for those of you who are getting impatient, remember... we promised you an explosion. and it's coming, believe us, and sooner than you might think. ;) happy wed! love, mia and jamie**_

* * *

He sat silently in the passenger seat, the slight buzz from the alcohol all but gone. It had rained earlier, and the still-slick streets flew past as his partner made her way through downtown DC towards his house. It struck him that this was the second time in less than a week that she was driving him home, and again, she'd kicked off a pair of shoes, this time sinful red heels, and was driving barefoot.

She reached out, cranking up the heat, and he groaned. He was already overheating. "Is that necessary?"

"I'm cold."

"Well, maybe if you had on actual _clothing_ you wouldn't need the car to be eighty-five degrees," he growled.

"My clothing is not inappropriate, and I resent the implication."

He clamped his mouth shut, and for a moment they rode in silence until she turned to him again.

"You're thinking it's good that they left together, right?" she needled. "I think it is."

He sighed. "Bones, this is becoming an obsession."

She shot him an irritated glance. "Booth. They're our friends. And for someone who so deeply believes in the sanctity of marriage, you seem rather blasé that they could end up divorced."

"Would you _stop _saying that? I'm not blasé!"

"Well, you don't seem very committed at times."

He turned to her, suddenly furious. "Bones, I have hauled my ass to therapy when it was unnecessary. I have let you make an announcement about my _sperm _in an elevator. I have played with a stupid listening stick, I have sat through a torturous non-dinner and I have taken Hodgins out for drinks while being forced to watch some loser grope your ass. So don't _tell _me I'm not committed!" He scrubbed his face wearily with his hands. "God, sometimes I just want to -"

"What?"

_Kiss you._

She blinked, and he sucked in a breath._  
_  
_Oh, god. Was that out loud? _She was still looking at him, her eyebrows raised in anticipation, so apparently not - if he had said those words, her reaction would have been decidedly different.

"Strangle you," he muttered.

She frowned, glancing at him before hauling her eyes back to the road. "Considering our profession, that's not exactly an appropriate statement."

"Why are you always so damn _literal_?" he practically exploded. "I wasn't being serious!"

She pulled over suddenly, stopping the car so quickly they both jerked into their seat belt, the keys swaying in the ignition. "I'm just _saying_ that this is important to me!"

"I _know it is!_" he shouted. "It's all you ever _talk_ about anymore! You don't even discuss cases!"

"We don't _have _a case right now!"

"I bet you ten bucks if we did you wouldn't be talking about it!"

She shot him an incredulous look, as if he'd just suggested something as absurd as to forget obligation and drive to Mexico. "I have no need for ten dollars, Booth. I have plenty of -"

"God, it's an _expression!_" he practically growled, throwing himself back against the seat.

She sat silently for a moment. "Do you even realize how often you've been using the word 'God' lately? And not in reference to religion, either."

He closed his eyes. _Because you're driving me bat-shit crazy, that's why. _"Just drive."

She pulled back into traffic, and he kept his eyes locked firmly outside his window, refusing to look in her direction. She was right, in a way. Things were different. They'd always enjoyed friendly banter, enjoyed challenging one another, getting under one another's skin. But this was different. They were actually arguing almost daily, in some way or another.

He was starting to feel like the more they tried to help Angela and Jack, the more tense their own relationship was becoming.

The car stopped again suddenly, and he realized they were in front of his house. Sighing, he reached for his seat belt and the door, but before he could pull back the handle, she punched down the locks.

He turned to her, expecting to see her charged and ready for another round, but instead, her eyes were soft. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

_Huh?_

"You are...?" he asked cautiously. "About what part?"

She shifted in her seat, trying to turn towards him, and in the process, her already short skirt slid up her thigh. He jerked his eyes away, reddening, thankful for the near-darkness.

"About saying you aren't committed," she said quietly. "I know you're trying to help."

He nodded, attempting to focus on the conversation. "I am, Bones. I really am. But I'm just worried that you're going to get hurt in all this - it's their issue, _their_ marriage. And we can try to support them and listen, but we can't _make _them talk to one another." He hesitated. "If they want it badly enough, they'll work it out."

She didn't respond, simply watching him, her eyes gleaming from the streetlight.

Tearing his eyes away, he unbuckled his seat belt. "I'm sorry I said I wanted to strangle you," he said quietly.

"No you're not," she murmured, a teasing tone to her voice, and he glanced up at her in surprise. Had she simply been _goading_ him earlier?

_That little brat._

Seeing the playful smile on her lips, his head started to spin. Again, despite his best efforts, his eyes fell to her legs, the skin still visible despite the low light, and he cleared his throat. "I should go."

She nodded, the smile slipping from her face, suddenly looking awkward. "Yeah, okay."

But he didn't move, his eyes returning to her face. Suddenly he saw her again in the club, her mouth only inches from his, her eyelids heavy as she'd caught his gaze. He remembered her hips swaying to the music, the flash of bare leg and those absurdly sexy shoes. His whole body was starting to respond.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" he suddenly said sharply, flinging open the door and practically vaulting from her car. He caught her surprised expression as he turned back from his front lawn, but then she simply shook her head before pulling away, disappearing into the darkness.

He tightened his grip on his keys as he made his way up the front walk. Things were really starting to get out of hand - and personal boundaries were starting to blur. He could acknowledge that he had a less than traditional relationship with his partner to begin with... but tonight? He'd reacted to someone else touching her on the dance floor, to those damn _shoes_, to her mouth slightly parted and the expanse of bare skin.

_Oh, god. The things he'd thought of doing to her before he'd even realized it was his _partner_._

It was going to take a lot of Hail Mary's to rid himself of _that_ truckload of guilt.

But even worse than his thoughts were his actions. He'd nearly kissed her. Kissed Bones, pressed his lips against hers, nearly slid his tongue inside the assured warmth of her mouth. She'd been so close he'd practically been able to _taste_ her, and if it hadn't been for the announcement...

He would have.

Jamming his keys into the lock, he nearly took the door of it's hinges as he entered. He suddenly had no sense of self control, and he hated it. He'd been attracted to her for years, sure, but never had he been so close to slipping as he'd been tonight. Stomping down his hallway, he shed his clothing on his way to his bedroom, peeling off his jacket and letting it simply drop on the floor. He hit his bedroom door with his open palm, and the sound of it hitting the interior wall of his room reverberated throughout the empty house.

As he yanked his t-shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner, he briefly considered calling some ex-flame - even toyed with the possibility of calling Camille. Because surely, spending the night with some woman, _any woman_, would set him straight. Clearly his inability to control himself as of late had to do with the fact that it had simply been a long time since he'd gotten laid. In fact, he hadn't slept with a woman _since_ Cam. No wonder he was so frustrated and messed up around Bones lately - he was just hard up.

_You know that's not true._

His pants half-unbuttoned, he dropped to the bed, sighing. Truth was, he'd stopped dating when he'd decided to end things with Camille, and he'd been single longer than he'd been in years. He'd gone to bed alone, night after night, and he'd hardly noticed until now just how many months had passed - it had been nearly a year. And somehow, he hadn't seen it.

Because he spent all his time with Temperance Brennan.

* * *

She sat after work in the studio that he had created for her, staring at the charcoal sketch on the canvas in front of her. It was a self-portrait. She had never done one before, was always more interested in the unique lines of new faces, new bodies. But when she had her wedding portrait returned, she had not been able to stop looking at it for long moments. When her husband sat beside her, giving her a questioning look, she had finally torn herself away. "_I'm beautiful_," she had told him.

He had squeezed her hand. _"I'm glad you finally see." _And she had. The picture that had been captured by the photographer was of pure happiness. Pure beauty.

After their honeymoon, she had made this sketch of the photograph, and had intended to take the oil paints to it soon after. But then work had gotten busy... and then they had begun trying for a baby... and then...

"I still say it's the best drawing you ever did."

Angela was startled by the voice. She was used to spending her time here alone lately. "It's not finished."

"Still."

Half-smiling, she turned back to the portrait, pulling the plastic cover back over the canvas. "Are you ready for round two of therapy madness?"

"I don't know if I could ever be ready for such a spectacle." Jack pulled another stool up beside hers.

"You know, I don't think I'd make a very good therapist," Angela told him thoughtfully, turning to face him. "I'd assume there's a certain timing for these things, and I just don't think I'd be able to wait. Sometime during the first session, I wouldn't be able to help saying something like 'So... I couldn't help noticing that you guys want to make out with other. Badly."

Hodgins chuckled. "I don't know. You usually do a pretty good job of saying the right thing at the right time."

"Except on the occasions when I fuck up terribly by putting my foot in my mouth."

"It never seems like a fuck-up when you do it. It always seems charming. And _that _is a skill."

"Thanks," she said, returning his crooked smile. When he was like this, all awkward sweetness and big blue eyes, she remembered exactly what had put that beaming grin on her face in that photo.

"I had the lawyer draw up the papers. They're there for you to sign. When you're ready."

Her smile fell. "I don't know if I could ever be ready for such a spectacle," she mocked his words softly.

He sighed, a despairing sound. "It's easier this way, Angie."

"I don't see how you can use the word 'easy' in regards to this situation," she said, a little bitterly.

"I can't tell you how much I wanted to be the one to be able to make you happy."

"You decided you couldn't be that person, Jack. Not me."

He looked utterly regretful, and she decided she didn't have it in her to continue this argument. Changing the topic was easier.

"So. Do you get the feeling that this will ruin therapy for Brennan and Booth? I mean, they are _into _this stuff."

"Yeah. Did Brennan tell you about their listening stick?"

She laughed in spite of herself. _"Yes. _Can you imagine? I'm sort of picturing them having a wrestling match over the thing, the whole time yelling that it's the _other one's _turn to listen, dammit."

Hodgins chuckled too, the image apparently coming easily to his mind. "Sweets should dispense with the listening stick, and just prescribe the wrestling. It might accomplish more."

She smiled at the thought.

"Do you suppose they actually think this little ruse of theirs has us at all fooled?"

Angela sat thoughtfully for a moment. "I think it's important for them that we be okay. The fact that we _haven't _been... I can see it eating away at Bren. She's had so little evidence that relationships can be healthy and stable and good. Seeing us happy made her optimistic. Made her open up to possibilities."

Jack sighed. "Even Booth seems upset, which is... odd. Although part of me can't tell if it matters to him that much or if it's just that Brennan's upset. The guy goes into overdrive the minute she's even remotely distressed by anything." He chuckled. "I mean, he asked me out for a drink - and he didn't even threaten to shoot me."

"I just think Bren sees our relationship as proof of something - and that she can manipulate that proof to be positive or negative depending on where we're at."

Her husband nodded slowly. "It's a shame, right? Those two crazy kids are going to use us as an excuse to spend the rest of their lives torturing each other. And themselves."

She met his eyes, a thought formulating. "Hey. What do you say we don't give them an excuse?"

"We can't stay together to make Booth and Brennan feel better, Angela."

"No. But before we finish this... we can teach them how to be together. Isn't that what they've been trying to learn from us all along?"

"Yeah, but do they realize that?"

She smiled. "Does it matter if _we _do?"

Awareness lit up his face. "Hmm. Suppose that would count as a good deed for the day?"

She gave him a knowing look, and suddenly felt more content than she had in months. Not just because she was helping her friends... but also because this was the first thing she and her husband had done _together _in a long, long time.

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_**we like stuff... do you like stuff...?**_


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: We have the most fabby readers for this story… thanks so much for your continuing support and encouragements and even the mock death threats. (They BETTER be mock. Ahem. We can be Brennan-like in our ability to defend ourselves:-D). Your lurvely feedback keeps us writing in a timely manner, even when lifestuff gets busy.**

**A tidbit of this chap is in homage to one Miss BleedingMascara. See if ya can find it, Mel.**

**Loves to all.**

* * *

From behind his desk, hands together neatly in his lap, the young psychologist surveyed the room. The two partners were seated next to one another, but the tension between them was palpable today. They hadn't teased one another since arriving, or teased him, for that matter. He wondered what had happened since the previous session, and struggled to keep from asking - he figured he'd know in due time, anyway.

In contrast, their friends seemed more relaxed than they'd appeared the last time they'd been here. While last time she'd been near tears, Angela Montenegro was now calmly sitting in the chair next to Dr. Brennan, and every once in a while would exchange a glance with her  
husband.

"So," he said slowly. "Let's get started, shall we?"

All four heads nodded, each face holding a very different expression.

"I was thinking that today we'd return to the whole idea of trust. I'd like to remind all of you that this is a safe environment where you should feel free to discuss and be honest with one another about how you feel. Secret-telling is often seen in a negative -"

"Secrets?"

Underneath the irritation, Sweets detected more than a little anxiety in the FBI agent's voice, and fought back the urge to smile. "Partnership is trust, Agent Booth - in all aspects. And we've focused on the idea of secrets before."

"Yeah, and he _laughed_ at mine," Dr. Brennan interrupted.

"When did I laugh at you?" Booth said incredulously, swinging his head to look at her.

She looked equally incredulous. "You don't even _remember?_"

He just stared at her blankly, and she sighed. "The brainy smurf."

Both Dr. Hodgins and Angela leaned towards the two partners, speaking simultaneously. "Huh?"

Dr. Brennan sighed. "Never mind."

Booth scrubbed his face with his hand wearily. "Bones, I thought we already _dealt_ with that. I told you a story and you _said _that you -"

"Well, I think you should be required to tell a secret first this time - about something that makes you uncomfortable."

There was a moment of silence, and Sweets glanced at the agent questioningly. "Agent Booth?"

"I don't have anything that makes me uncomfortable."

An inelegant snort came from Dr. Brennan. "Sex makes you uncomfortable."

"Sex does _not_ make me uncomfortable."

"You refuse to talk about it."

Sweets scooted his chair closer to his desk, but before he could speak, the agent turned to his partner in exasperation. "I have _told _you that it's simply unprofessional, and I don't want to talk about it at work. That doesn't mean I'm uncomfortable with sex, Bones." He clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensing. "But fine. You want to talk about it, fine."

Dr. Brennan looked startled. "Really?"

Angela had a small smile on her face. "I think sex is a good topic for you two."

Her husband chuckled, and Sweets couldn't help but pick up on the sparkle in the artist's eye. _Oh, yeah. She knows - they both do._

Clearing his throat, the psychologist looked pointedly at the FBI agent. "Agent Booth? Do you have a secret to reveal of a sexual nature? Remember, this is a -"

"Yeah, yeah. Safe environment," he muttered. "I got it Sweets, alright?"

Dr. Hodgins smiled, turning his head away from the man next to him - most likely to avoid a threat of being shot.

"We're waiting," Dr. Brennan said after a moment of silence.

"Now you're_ rushing _me?"

She shrugged. "I didn't think you'd have to think about it."

He sighed wearily. "Okay. Fine." He tapped his fingers on his knee, and Sweets was fairly certain the man was scrolling through memories - and that he had _no _intention of revealing anything too personal.

"When I was seven, I walked in on my parents having sex," he said finally. "It was... traumatizing."

Brennan's eyes widened. "That explains _so much."_

"Wait, _what_?"

"Although, I'm not sure how that's your secret. I mean, you were a child. How is it that really something you feel the need to hide from anyone? You weren't involved in the act itself."

The agent's head dropped into his hands. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

It was time to grab the reins. "I'm not sure you two are really grasping the concept, here, guys," Sweets said quickly. Glancing at the artist and scientist flanking the two, he suddenly had an idea. "Dr. Hodgins, Angela... Would you be willing to share something with one another? To give them an example?"

Dr. Hodgins looked at him warily for a moment, but the artist nodded, and when he saw his wife's agreement, he acquiesced. "Yeah, okay."

Sweets nodded to Angela. "Would you like to go first?"

She sighed, looking at her lap for a moment, and Sweets couldn't help but notice the anxiety on Dr. Brennan's face. She looked more nervous than her friends about their secrets. _Interesting._

"I... I wish that sex could be about being close again, and having fun with one another." Angela said quietly. "And not about trying to get pregnant." She bit her lip, glancing at her husband.

Dr. Hodgins swallowed, his eyes on his wife. The room was suddenly silent, and Dr. Brennan's eyes were wide as she waited for any sort of response. Agent Booth simply looked uncomfortable, his eyes fixed somewhere on Sweets' desk.

He waited to see if Angela would continue, but she remained quiet. Clearing his throat, he nodded slowly. "Thank you. That was an honest, open statement, which is exactly what we're looking for, here." He turned to her husband. "Dr. Hodgins?"

But the man wasn't paying any attention to him - his eyes were fixed on his wife, across the two partners between them. "Angela..."

Her eyes shimmered. "A baby was supposed to add to our family, Jack. Not tear it apart. _We're_ supposed to be the foundation, not a child."

The scientist was quiet for a moment, and both Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan seemed stunned into silence, their eyes round as they watched their two friends.

"I wish I could feel like I'm not taking something from you," Hodgins finally said softly, his words uneven.

"Then don't," Angela whispered back.

_Whoa. I didn't even have to pull any stunts - they just went there._But the moment was swiftly disappearing, and Sweets jumped to grab onto it for another purpose. "That was excellent you two. Really. And you trusted the group enough to share what are obviously difficult feelings." He glanced at the two shell-shocked partners. "Guys? were you able to see the difference between what they shared and what Agent Booth chose to share?"

Booth cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow. "They're married, Sweets. It's not the same thing."

"They're partners, nonetheless. And while the personal parameters might be different, trust is still required to function - in both cases." He glanced between the two of them. "You two seem unwilling to share anything of a deeply personal nature, and by insisting that your partnership remain always professional, Agent Booth, you're possibly limiting the level of trust you may have within that partnership."

The FBI agent glared at him. "Okay, we trust one another, alright? A lot. We trust each other with our lives everyday - we have to."

"And yet you balk at sharing things of a specific nature." He raised an eyebrow. "Your friends just allowed themselves to be deeply vulnerable in front of you so that you could see what kind of trust that can build." He paused. "Do either of you have something you feel is deeply personal that you haven't shared before? Something you've not felt comfortable sharing with other partnerships you may have had in the past?"

"I've never orgasmed from oral sex."

_Whoa._

Every head in the room swiveled in amazement to look at Dr. Brennan, and for a moment Sweets wondered if she would blush.

He should have known better.

Agent Booth's mouth was half open, his face bright red, and even Dr. Hodgins and Angela looked startled.

"_Bones," _her partner hissed.

She turned to him in surprise. "What, Booth? Sweets said that we should reveal something we've felt unable to reveal to other partners."

"I don't think he meant _that_ kind of partner."

"Actually, I -"

"And I haven't felt comfortable telling men that before. They tend to take it personally, and feel that they're unable to satisfy me." She shrugged. "I find most men are unwilling to take the rejection and try again if I'm honest." She paused. "It's quite frustrating."

For a moment, Agent Booth appeared to be at a total and complete loss for words, and Sweets watched him with interest as his expression shifted from shock to something else entirely. His eyes darkened, and he kept them fixed on his partner.

_You'd like to help her out with that problem, wouldn't you, tough guy? I bet you would._

He cleared his throat. "Agent Booth, you appear to be having a strong reaction. Can you explain what you were feeling when she disclosed that?"

The agent turned to him slowly, his eyes dangerous, and Sweets suddenly wondered if all the times he'd threatened to shoot him, he'd been serious. _Wrong question._

"Alright. You are apparently uncomfortable discussing your reaction," he gave him an out. "Dr. Brennan, what do you make of your issue with... you know." Suddenly he felt almost as anxious as Booth appeared to be, and he was again reminded of his lack of experience when compared to his older, more... active ...clients. "Do you feel the that your inability to orgasm was due to the men you were with, or something more personal?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "I don't know."

"Well, oral sex can require a degree of intimacy and exposure that can often be too great to overcome with partners we don't completely trust. It involves letting go of control, being vulnerable."

Agent Booth rubbed his hand over his face suddenly. "Sweets, I'm failing to see how this involves _our_ partnership."

Before he could answer, Angela leaned towards her friend, speaking quietly. "He's right, sweetie. It's probably a trust thing. But you know, you just need to relax and let go. You can always fantasize and-"

"Angela!" Booth said incredulously. "Are you seriously giving her sex tips right now?"

"You are _very _uncomfortable right now," his partner commented. She paused, tilting her head. "Is there a reason what I said made you so uncomfortable? We aren't in a work setting right now..."

_Hey, that's my question. Good thing I already know the answer.  
_  
Dr. Brennan continued to speak, leaning forward to peek at her co-worker. "Hodgins? Did I make you uncomfortable?"

The bug guy smiled. "Not really, no."

She looked triumphant. "See? Hodgins isn't uncomfortable."

Booth gave Jack a death glare, before switching his attention back to Brennan.

Sweets turned, and kept his eyes trained solely on Agent Booth. For a moment, the man looked as if he were about to explode, both in embarrassment and anger - and both seemed directed at his partner. Still, he no doubt had years of training in self-control and patience, and he swiftly reined in his emotions. "Bones, I'm fine, alright? Can we just move on? To something _relevant?"_

Sighing, Sweets sat upright in his chair. "Guys, I think the sex differences are causing a disconnect in the ability to discuss certain topics in this setting. I suggest we split into same-sex partners and try some more exercises, alright?"

Both Angela and Dr. Brennan nodded, and the men just looked at one another warily.

_This is gold - pure, solid gold._

_

* * *

_

"Booth..."

"No."

"Booth."

"No."

She sat silently for a few minutes. Then..."Booth?"

He finally looked over at her, quickly, sharply. "Forget it, Bones. I'm not talking to you."

"Well, that's very mature," she sniffed from her position in the passenger seat, crossing her arms and looking out the window. "And a _perfect _example of everything I've been talking about in therapy. Ask you one little personal question and you close all up." She had been hoping the comment would provoke a response from him. Even when he was yelling at her, it was better than being ignored by him. But he remained staring straight at the road ahead.

"I'm not going to feel bad about it," she told him. "I thought today's session was very helpful for Angela and Hodgins. You heard Sweets. They were being very open and honest with one another. And if our conversation helped them, then you should be glad that the topic came up, no matter how uncomfortable it made you feel."

Still nothing.

"And I'd like to remind you that you agreed to do this. When Sweets suggested that we use our therapy to help Ange and Jack, you thought his logic for doing it was good. So your anger at following through with a plan _you _helped create is unjustified."

Finally, her goading worked; he talked to her (shouted, more like it), although he still wouldn't look at her. "I agreed to allowed them to sit in on our therapy! I did _not _agree to discuss the losers you've slept with!"

She was taken aback by the vehement tone of his voice. "I think 'losers' is going a little too far, Booth. I'm willing to acknowledge that my difficulties with climaxing during oral sex may be due partially to my desire to remain in control of all areas of my life..."

"Bones. _Shut up_."

This wasn't their typical playful bickering; she wasn't oblivious enough to social cues not to recognize that. She held her tongue for the rest of the way home.

Maybe she had gone too far. She knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps she had played that knowledge to her advantage just a little too much this evening. But she had so wanted her friends to see an example of her and Booth pushing through conflict, talking about things even though they (or at least one of them) didn't want to talk about it. And, of course, was the also-attractive opportunity to learn a little bit more about her partner, and what made him tick. But he wasn't merely annoyed with her right now. He seemed _pissed._

They pulled up to her apartment building, and he braked the Tahoe to a quick stop. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said shortly.

"You have to come up," she told him.

"No, I don't," he defied.

"You left your travel mug on my coffee table."

"I'll get Starbucks tomorrow."

"And you left your jacket on my sofa."

"You can drop it off at the lab and I'll get it later."

"And your wallet's in the pocket."

Silence. Ha. She had got him.

He looked at the roof of the car as if asking "Why?" to the heavens. Sighing, he opened the door to get out. Triumphantly, she followed.

* * *

He wasn't sure he'd even been so irritated with her in their entire partnership as he was right now. As he stood silently in the elevator, his hands shoved angrily in his pockets, he kept his gaze on the small numbers that continued to light up as they made their way to her floor. He was afraid to look at her.

She'd never had an orgasm from oral sex. That was just great, that was just perfect. How on earth was he supposed to keep their relationship about _work_ if she went around admitting crap like that? Because that simple statement felt oddly like a challenge.

And Seeley Booth wasn't one to walk away from a challenge.

But oh, we was going to. Because there was no way she was going to goad him into another conversation about sex with her. Oh, no. And that's exactly what was going to happen if he stuck around her apartment for more than two minutes. She wanted to talk about it, but he was done talking.

Following her into the apartment, he strode purposefully towards the couch, reaching for his jacket, but when he turned around, she was shutting the door behind her.

"Don't bother," he snapped. "I'm going."

"I can't believe you're acting this childish."

His eyes practically bulged. "Bones. I am _warning_ you. I am _not _in the mood for this right now."

_Oh, no. Because he was in the mood for other things. Things that didn't involve a lot of talking._

But not even once could she back down. She walked towards him, snatching his keys from his hand. "You're acting like I ran over your puppy, Booth! All I did was admit that I'm unable to -"

"Stop! Stop right there!" he shouted, jamming a finger in front of her face. "Right there, that's what I'm talking about! Do you even realize what bringing that up today probably accomplished? First of all, you admitted that to a twelve-year old psychologist -"

"He's a professional, Booth."

"A professional who's probably now picturing you _naked_! You probably gave the kid all _sorts_ of fun images with that one, Bones!"

"So that's why you're mad," she said quietly.

"_No," _he swore. "I'm mad because you pitted me against Hodgins to make me look like a jackass who couldn't handle your big 'secret'. I'm mad because I don't have any _idea _what your ability to..."

"Orgasm," she supplied.

"_Whatever._ What does that have to do with our partnership, Bones? _Nothing_. We're not even supposed to _have_ issues! We're supposed to be doing this for Jack and Angela! But you had to go and say that - and _push me!"_

"I was trying to get them to talk!" she suddenly volleyed back, her own voice rising.

"They already _did!_" he exploded, stepping close. "_They_ talked. We heard them. But you just _had_ to bring it up, didn't you? You just had to talk about sex, get me all riled up, make me look like a prude or something!"

"That's not why -"

"Then _why_ did you do it?" he bellowed, his nose practically an inch from hers.

She looked startled all of a sudden, her eyes widening, and she didn't speak. His own chest was heaving along with hers, and he saw the pink flash of her tongue dart out as she moistened her lips.

_Oh, god. Why hadn't he left when he had the chance?_

* * *

This was apparently her lot in life; her and her partner, in one another's face, yelling at each other. He was asking her questions that she wasn't sure she knew the answer to, _demanding _answers, and as he stared her down, standing nearly on _top _of her, she found herself unable to generate a response. There were words she _wanted _to say...that this was about Jack and Angela, that he was making this into a hell of a lot more than it actually was...and then a memory hit her. Or was it deja vu?

Standing in that damn club, music pumping, arguing with one another, falling into him, feeling hypnotized, feeling dazed in his eyes, wanting...

_Wanting him to kiss her._

That couldn't be what she had felt. But it was.

Why did she push him to talk about sex? Why did she goad him in the therapy room tonight, seeing him staring at her with charcoal-dark eyes, knowing what it meant when a man looked at a woman like that? Knowing _Booth?_

Oh, she didn't like where her mind was going. Her own anger, feeding off of his, rose inside of her. Why couldn't he just play along? Why couldn't he just answer her damn questions, satisfy her curiosities, without asking why? Why? _Why?_

She didn't want to know why. And she was pretty damn sure he didn't really want to know, either, because the 'why' was so far over his goddamn line that it was quickly becoming impossible to snatch it back.

"Why?" she heaved, feeling her chest touch his with every inhale_. "Fuck you_, that's why!" It was possible she had never said anything so nonsensical, so illogical in all her life.

Maybe that's why she found herself suddenly bent backwards over the back of her own damn couch, pinned by the weight of his body, one of his hands yanking at her hair to expose her throat to his sucking mouth, while the other hand insinuated its way between the buttons of her shirt to squeeze her breast, tugging her nipple hard through her bra.

Now he had done it_. _

_He had found the 'why'. _

_

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_

**A/N: Mhm. Yeah. That's right.**

**The review button is riiiiiight there in front of you:-D**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: You blew us away with your response to the last chap! Even if most of the reviews _were _to threaten to Gormagon us if we didn't update soon:) Is amazing who the suggestion of smut brings out of the closet...ya little pervs. Hee. We lurve you anyway, and hope that you continue letting us know your thoughts. Since you were so sweet last time, we wrote this chap extra-fast, just for you!**_

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_

He was capable of very little thought, but the one he managed was practically screaming.

_This was all her fault._

Damn her for being so pushy, and damn her for being so insistent. Damn her for being so beautiful and so brilliant and so sexy... and damn him for being unable to resist her.

Her scent filled his nose, strong at the junction where her throat met her shoulder as he swiftly lowered his head. He heard her gasp as he grabbed a fistful of her hair to expose her skin, and he opened his mouth hotly against it, sucking frantically, tasting her as his hand thrust into her shirt, groping for her breast.

And suddenly her own fingers shot into his hair, curling tightly, and he realized he was about to have his head snapped back, and possibly receive an elbow to the jaw. And so he dragged his tongue one last time along her collarbone, clenching his eyes shut tightly, trying to memorize every detail.

She moaned.

And that one sound, that one moan - it was all it took to propel him back into oblivion. She arched her back, pushing up into his hips, into his hand that held her breast, and she was holding him to her, not pushing away. His other hand shot out in search of the back of the couch and missed, and he fell forward with her, tumbling over the back and twisting until he landed on top of her on the cushions, feeling the breath _whoosh_ from her lungs.

Her hands flew up to grab onto him but he caught them in his own, pinning them firmly above her head as he straddled her. He dipped down, his face only an inch from hers, his breath touching her cheek.

"You want to know why I won't talk about sex with you?" he rasped. "Huh? You want to know?" He pushed his now prominent erection against her pelvis, watching her eyelids fall to half-mast. "_This is why_. Because I don't want to _'talk'_ about sex with you, you got it?"

A smile twitched at her lips, despite her shortness of breath. "Your line, right?" she taunted, her chest heaving beautifully beneath him, the lace of her bra visible where her shirt was now missing several buttons. "This is about that damn _line_." She rolled her hips against him, her blue eyes flashing as he bit back a growl.

"God, you make me _crazy,_" he hissed. "You make me want to -"

But she arched up again, smashing her lips against his, and he hardly had time to open his mouth before he felt the urgent tangle of her tongue. Sweeping past it, he sank his own deeply into her mouth, his balls tightening painfully at the taste of her. _A kiss._ The inside of her mouth was hot, her cheek silky, and, finally releasing her wrists, he yanked at the remaining buttons on her shirt, exposing bare skin and lace.

Jerking back, he sucked in a much needed breath before he dropped his head to her breasts, his teeth nipping at the straining nipple beneath the fabric. She moaned, her hands flying to the cotton of his t-shirt, yanking at the hem, sliding her fingers beneath to race over his back. His tongue flew across the hardened peak of her breast before he tugged it into his mouth, sucking hotly, and her hands suddenly dropped to his ass, yanking hard, pulling him against her, her knees locking tightly against his hips.

Before he could move to the other breast, she slid her hands up to his waist and rolled hard with all her weight, trying to dominate. Not expecting it, he was unable to keep his balance on the narrow couch, and they went crashing to the floor next to the coffee table. This time he took the brunt of the fall, landing hard on his back, and she instantly straddled his hips, shoving his shirt up to expose his bare chest.

_Everything. She's amazing at everything._

He'd known of course. It's why he'd tried so damn hard not to fall with her; there was no safety net to catch them part of the way down. They'd opened the floodgates, and he had no idea how to stop it.

She yanked hard, and he lifted his head and arms so that she could wrestle the shirt over and off of him, sending it sailing to the other side of the living room before bringing her open mouth to his bare skin, her tongue teasing and flickering as her teeth grazed his own nipple.

"You want to know why I push you?" she said suddenly, her mouth above his own, her eyes deep pools of navy, her hair wild as it fell over her shoulders. "Why I won't let it _go?_ It's because I _want_ you to lose control, Booth - because of me."

One hand flew to her hip and the other shot out, knocking the coffee table several feet backwards to give a wider berth. Rolling hard, he again had her flat on her back as he struggled one handed for the button on her jeans, the other supporting him above her. He wanted to feel the heat of her, to slide his fingers between her legs - to finally touch and taste and _feel_ the one woman he'd wanted but never allowed himself to take. She bit his shoulder sharply, pushing up from the oriental rug, and he could barely breathe he was so turned on, so hot and hard and _crazy for her_. He yanked at her button impatiently, clumsily, and it suddenly popped off. He heard it hit the glass top of the coffee table, rolling, and for some reason, it brought him back for a moment, the breath returning to his lungs in a rush, his eyes opening widely.

And when he looked down, his partner was beneath him, her chest heaving. One breast was exposed where he'd tugged the lace cup of her bra free, nipple hard and straining, and the skin of her chest and throat was pink where his five o'clock shadow had scraped against it. Her lips were swollen; damp from the assault of his own mouth, slightly parted as her eyes met his.

_Oh, god. What were they DOING?_

_

* * *

_

The 'ping' of metal button against the glass contrasted sharply with the other sounds that had been filling the room-their gasping breaths, the sucking of his mouth against her flesh, the soft moans and grunts as one of them surprised the other with the raw need behind their actions-and it seemed to shock him out of his urgency. His hotly exploring fingers stopped their journey, his intense grinding against her ceased, and looking up into his wild face she wanted to scream at him, but instead she drilled her eyes into his defiantly. He _wouldn't. _He wouldn't start this and then walk away. He couldn't.

A string of expletives left his lips, any eloquence he had previously possessed leaving him. "Fuck, Bones... I... we... I..." He looked panicked. "I'm _sorry."_

_What? _The first honest thing he had done with her all day, and he was fucking _sorry_? Anger, propelled by her rushing blood, her pounding heart, flooded back into her.

"You refuse to talk to me all the way home. You try to make me feel like I did something wrong for revealing a personal _fact. _You accuse me of all sorts of things. And now, the thing you're sorry for is _kissing me?" _

The guilty look on his face told her that yes, that was _exactly _what he was sorry for.

Frustration at him, at herself, at this entire ridiculous situation ran through her. Angrily, she gave his bare chest a shove, and struggled upright again, yanking her bra back into place over her breast, pulling her shirt back into place before she realized it was futile without the buttons to hold it there. He was on his knees, rubbing his hand dazedly through his hair, and if she weren't so incredibly _pissed _she might have laughed at his still-present hard-on (that he had _just been pressing against her) _straining at his jeans. He spoke. "I think I should..."

She wouldn't even let him finish. "Go. Just _go." _Standing, she snatched his discarded shirt, which was barely clinging to the edge of the coffee table where she had tossed it, and she hurled it back at him with a twinge of regret being felt through her fury. _Fuck him for looking better without it._

"Bones..."

"I swear Booth, if you say another word, I'm going to _scream." _She meant it. She was literally sure she wasn't able to tolerate hearing about his 'line' tonight, hearing about all the reasons they shouldn't be doing what they had just started to do. And she wasn't so clueless as to NOT know that was exactly what was going to come out of his lips. After _he _had touched _her. _After he'd made her look like a fool for revealing that she wanted him.

His mouth opened, but the flash in her eyes must have made him reconsider.

With one last scathing look at his shamed face, she crossed her arms and turned around, refusing to watch as he put his shirt back on and grab his things. She heard, rather than saw, his hesitation.

_"Go." _

In a moment she heard her front door open and close, not gently.

Releasing a shuddering breath, she surveyed the room, the pillows on her couch askew, her coffee table pushed halfway across the room, several of her buttons scattered on the floor. Her loins throbbed, reminding her of everything that had happened just five fucking minutes ago.

Her next move came to her thoughtlessly, without contemplation. Her jeans, buttonless now, gave away easily as she fell onto her sofa and thrust her hand in to touch the near-embarrassing wetness of her panties. A swipe of her finger to her swollen sex brought a gasp to her lips. She had been _so _ready to be touched.

Looking down her body she saw the spot where her bra was wet from his tongue. The threads hanging from her shirt where he had torn it apart. The flush of her skin from arousal and from his demanding attentions. Her fingers moved faster, and her breathing, never quite having reached normal since their encounter, increased again. It took just a moment until her body spasmed and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut hard against and because of the memories.

_See? I don't need you, you bastard. Not one little bit._

Sighing and shaking slightly, she sank into the cushions. She had had her release. It had been all she wanted. All she needed.

So why did she feel almost as incredibly empty at that moment as she ever had in her life?

* * *

Making his way through the front door, he watched his wife slowly shed her jacket, slipping it from her slim shoulders. In the low light of the foyer her hair was shining, and when she turned, so were her eyes.

"What do you think they're doing right now?" she asked quietly, a smile against her lips as she turned towards the main staircase. "Booth looked like he wanted to strangle Bren when they left."

Jack couldn't help grin in response, following her up and down the hall towards the bedroom she was no occupying without him. "I bet they're duking it out right now."

A wider smile stretched across her face, her eyes lit up like candles as she paused outside the doorway. "God, I hope so - otherwise I'm starting to believe we'll all go crazy along with them."

She looked so beautiful he could hardly help himself. Stepping closer, he cupped her face in his hands, brushing his lips across hers gently. He hadn't thought it through, hadn't expected her to respond. In truth, he'd expected her to pull back, her eyes full of sadness, her hands holding onto his where they pressed against her face.

But she didn't. She kissed him back; tilting her head, she deepened it, her own hands settling on his waist.

God, he'd missed her. It had been weeks since they'd touched one another this way, and he could feel himself start to tremble as she gently pulled back, taking in a deep breath. "Why did you do that?"

He swallowed, his eyes falling again to her mouth. "I missed you," he admitted quietly. "And I was just -"

She kissed him again, and his hands fell to her hips, backing her gently into the frame of the door, luxuriating in the feel of her against him and the small sigh that escaped her. The kiss lasted for several moments, her fingers curling into his hair, and when he finally broke free again, he dropped a kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder and she shivered.

"Angie," he whispered. "We should -"

"I meant what I said tonight," she said in a soft voice, pulling his head back up to make him meet her eyes. "That I wanted us to be about more than simply having a child - that I wanted this to be about us again."

"But we're -"

"Together," she whispered. "For now." Her eyes burned into his, her cheeks flushed pink. "You want to walk away tonight, Jack? Or do you want to be with me?"

"To be with you," he choked out. "But I'm just afraid that -"

"Then take me to bed," she said gently, pressing her hand against his cheek. "_Our bed_ - not some guest room down the hall."

His eyes roamed her face, looking for some sign that she wasn't sure of this, but he found none. Her eyes were bright, but she was relaxed and open and... _Angela _again. The Angela he desperately loved, that he'd desperately wanted to marry and spend his life with. And so he nodded, reaching gently for his hand, winding it in hers.

And they turned together, walking silently down the hall towards the room that had, for weeks, felt empty without her.


	11. Chapter 10

_**A/N: sooo... apparently we've figured out a new formula for writing. it involves mia having a pinched sciatic nerve and being on copious amounts of muscle relaxants and codeine and bedridden. who knew that a drugged mia and sympathetic jamie would be so productive? but we are! we've written three chapters since thursday! can you believe that...?**_

_**anyhoo, the time has arrived for you all to learn the meaning of the title of this lovely fic. we hope you enjoy. and remember, when you pat us on the back, do so gently - mia's hurts. :) xoxo**_

* * *

His eyes pulled themselves open wearily as his alarm clock bleated next to his ear, announcing that it was morning. Rolling over, he slapped it angrily with an open palm before pulling the pillow tightly over his head.

_That had been one of the worst sleepless nights of his life._

Still half-hard from the dream he'd managed in the measly moments of sleep, the pressure of lying on his stomach on the mattress only reminded him of what had been left unfinished. Groaning, he sat up, sending the pillow sailing across the room to smack the front of his dresser. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to force out the memories of the night before out, but stubbornly, they refused to budge.

He sent the covers flying back with a swift, frustrated kick and swung his legs over the bed. All he could see, all he could think of was his partner. He was reliving the night in flashes, quick bursts and successions of her face an inch from his, of her eyes flashing with anger, of her bare skin and her damp lips slightly parted.

Wrenching his towel from the back of the door, he stomped into his bathroom, turning the shower on with a rush. He had to go to The Jeffersonian today, and he was dreading it. A case file had been dropped on his desk yesterday afternoon, right before therapy, and this morning was time to dig in and get started.

_With Bones._

Stepping into the tub, he ducked his head into the rushing water, dousing his hair as his eyes fell closed. His shoulders felt tense, and his body felt slightly sore - not surprising considering he'd spent last night rolling around his partner's living room.

"_Dammit_," he hissed, pressing both his palms against the cool tile.

Everything was messed up now. He couldn't believe how he'd acted, couldn't believe that he'd grabbed her like that. He'd ripped her clothes, for god's sake. He'd thrown her back over a couch, he'd ground against her and told her -

_Oh, god... He'd told her he wanted her._

And she'd thrown him out. The second he'd stopped to think, to try to regain some sort of perspective or semblance of self-control, she'd grown absolutely furious. They'd already been angry with one another, fighting like they never had before, but when he'd stopped, she been livid. She'd most likely realized what they were doing herself, and had been anxious to get him out of her sight, to forget it had never even happened.

But one thing was eating at him, a little thought that wouldn't go away.

_What if she'd been mad _because _he'd stopped?_

It's what had kept him up practically all night. She'd been responding, had been moaning and gasping against his mouth, had rolled her hips against his, grabbed his hair. She'd wanted him - he'd had enough experience with women in his life to recognize it.

When he'd stopped... when that damn button had hit the coffee table, he'd wanted to talk to her, wanted to understand what was going on. But she'd snapped her shell shut tightly, and he'd left even more furious (and more frustrated) than when they'd arrived.

Sudsing his hair angrily, he realized that what was going to happen today was going to effect something he'd been trying to protect since the very beginning - their partnership. And it made him sick to his stomach and weak in the knees...

Because he needed her. She was a touchstone for him, a part of his life. He was at his best around her, at his sharpest. She challenged him, she made him laugh and cry and _trust_ in things again. And he couldn't lose that, no matter how badly he wanted her.

_No matter how badly he wanted to get in his car and point it straight in the direction of her house and show her what could really happen when a man focused his attention all on her._

Today was going to be a nightmare - he was going to have to look at her and stand next to her and not think about how hot her skin was and how the tip of her breast had felt in his mouth through her bra.

_Or that kissing her had lit him up like a four-alarm fire._

As he pulled himself from the shower, wrapping himself in a large white towel, he suddenly prayed that Temperance Brennan would take it easy on him - if only for an afternoon.

_

* * *

_

She gulped down her first taste of coffee and nearly spit it back into the mug when the scalding liquid hit her tongue. Well, at least _now _she was awake. Cam looked at her with a startled expression.

"You alright, Dr. Brennan?"

"Fine," she croaked, heading for the water cooler to soothe her burning mouth. Out of cups. This day was shaping up to be as good as her last. Which meant that before long, she should be feeling furious, sexually frustrated, and utterly confused. Wonderful. Groaning, she headed back to her desk.

"Good _morning _sunshine!" a cheerful voice greeted her along the way. She bit back a scowl before she realized the voice was Angela's.

"Hey, Ange," she sighed, easing back carefully into her chair to prevent jarring her tender body.

Her best friend stopped short of her desk, eyeing her. "Sweetie, I don't want you to take this the wrong way. But you look like _shit."_

That was Angela. Never one to pull any punches.

"Look at you," she said, coming up to desk, using her thumbs to smooth back her hair at her temples, running them under her eyes. "You look like you haven't slept in forever. _Please _tell me that there is some hot, super-sexy reason for that."

Ha. If she only knew. "You know what? I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about this whole therapy situation. It _really _means a lot to me that you guys have come to show your support, but I'm feeling like maybe it isn't being as helpful as I hoped... and I don't want to inconvenience you..."

Angela interrupted. "Are you saying you don't want Jack and I to come to therapy with you anymore?" Her cockeyed stare seemed to shoot laser beams of question through her, and she squirmed uncomfortably.

"Yes. I don't think it's necessary." The words felt like glass shards leaving her lips. Temperance Brennan didn't like giving up. But now, more than ever, it was painfully obvious to her. She had been wrong. Jack and Angela's relationship wasn't different. It couldn't penetrate an insurmountable obstacle. It couldn't withstand the pressure of Hodgins' grief, of Angela's need. Her own desperate attempt to fix it had been over before it began. What had their time in therapy accomplished? It had opened up her friends' wounds, and it had stirred up some sort of sleeping beast that had been lying between her and Booth. It hadn't just been unhelpful. It had been damaging, and it was time to accept what was in front of her; what was over, and what was never meant to be.

She saw Angela's eyes studying her, trying to interpret her change of heart. _Forget it, Ange. I'm not going to say it aloud, because it's too depressing. Something happened last night that made me just as hopeless as you feel._

"Can I tell you something?" her friend asked her, apparently finally deciding on a course of action. She grabbed a chair and pulled in beside her larger one, leaning in confidentially.

"You know you can tell me anything," she conceded, smiling begrudgingly at the twinkle in the artist's eye. A twinkle that, coincidentally, she hadn't seen in a painfully long time.

Angela lowered her voice to a whisper. "I made love to an amazing man last night."

_That _was Ange's secret? She had had sex with some other man? After all the work that she and Booth had put into helping her repair her marriage? If she hadn't already felt so defeated, she might have been angry. It certainly hadn't taken long for her friends to move on.

She slumped into her chair. "I hope whoever it is makes you happy," she said weakly, looking down at her coffee mug. It was impossible for her to meet Angela's eyes. If her friend looked at her, she'd be able to see how much this hurt.

At the grasp of her hands, she was forced to look into Angela's face. "Silly. It was my husband."

She blinked.

Angela squeezed her hands. "It was him, Bren. It was _really _him. The Jack I married. The one I fell in love with. There were no regrets about it being another failed attempt to have a baby. There was no fear, and no pain. There was just us...together, for each other. And it was _beautiful."_

Well. _This _was a surprise. While she and Booth had been screaming at each other, pushing each other, practically _attacking _each other in their desperation for supremacy, their anger and their lust taking charge, Angela and Jack had been getting it right. They had been learning. And it certainly wasn't through her and Booth. They had found the answer in each other.

She had no words. Not one.

Angela cupped her face, smiling. "We still have a lot to work on. A lot to fix. A lot of damage to be repaired. But I think...we might be ready to try again." She let go of Brennan, stood up. "I think you're right... it's time to leave you and Booth back to your own therapy. But maybe... we might do our own work. In our own way." She looked thoughtful. "Besides, I think that we've allowed what's going on with Jack and I to distract you long enough. It's time to focus on your own stuff, Sweetie. That's important, too."

As her friend was fairly skipping out of her office, Brennan had to fight not to call after her.

_No, Ange. _Please _don't make us focus on our own... stuff. I'm not sure my heart can take it._

But she was already gone, leaving her alone to deal with whatever the day brought her. A tangle of emotions coursed through her, and she couldn't tell one from the next. Her head sank into her hands.

"Dr. Brennan?"

_"What?" _she snapped, much more harshly than she intended. The intern looked taken aback. "Sorry. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to let you know that Agent Booth left a message for you. Said something came up at the Bureau today, so he wouldn't be able to stop by with the case materials. But that he'd see you tomorrow at your _mandatory _therapy session." The way the kid said "mandatory" let her know that it was a direct quote.

She gave a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."

Apparently relieved to no longer be in danger of being yelled at, the intern scurried away.

She had sort of forgotten they had another session tomorrow. Which, because of her, now they would be attending by themselves. Just them, and their issues.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

From the second his client walked into the room, Lance Sweets knew he was in trouble. Mostly because it was, indeed, a singular _client, _and not the typical twosome who arrived sometimes bickering, sometimes conspiring, sometimes silent, but _always _together. But also because of the near-terrified look on the F.B.I. agent's face. He had seen a lot of emotions pass over that face. But terror? This was a new one. And the way he peered around the corners of the office, like something might jump out and get him, made Sweets doubly suspicious.

"Bones here?" he asked, eyes flickering back and forth.

"Nooooo," Sweets replied slowly. "Usually, she comes with you."

"Maybe she canceled?" he asked anxiously. "You should check your messages."

Sweets held up his cell phone. "No messages."

"Weeell... maybe since she's not here, we should reschedule for another time. Wouldn't want to make you wait. You probably have an important Star Wars convention to go to or something..."

"We can wait, Agent Booth." He gestured to the couch.

The agent sat. Crossed his arms. Crossed his legs. Cleared his throat. Uncrossed his arms and began tapping on the leather back of the couch. Jiggled his knee up and down. Cleared his throat again.

Finally, Sweets couldn't take it. "Dude. Would you chill out? You're messing up my carefully constructed, soothing therapeutic atmosphere here."

He received a glare in reply, which was thankfully interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Sorry I'm late," said client number two, shortly. Entering the room, she walked briskly to the couch, sitting down. As far away from her partner as it was possible to be. Not once did they meet each other's eyes.

They were _always _looking into each other's eyes.

Something had happened. And something told Sweets that it would take more than a simple question to get to the bottom of it.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "How have things been since our last session?"

"Fine," the pair replied in unison, looking startled by their response. They shared a brief look, then both swiveled their heads to fix their gaze on him rather than each other.

"_Okaaaay_," he said slowly. "Have you been doing any of the listening exercises I suggested? Have you used the -"

"We did them," Booth replied briefly. "Worked great. The driving argument's over."

He blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yup."

He turned towards the anthropologist. "Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, we've... resolved the... issue."

He plastered a smile on his face. "Well, that's great guys! Really." He hesitated. "So you found it to be an effective method to resolve differences between you?"

Both nodded, not speaking. _This was so... weird. Something was seriously wrong._

Okay, new tactic. "So, you would both say, in general, that your communication in your partnership is improving?"

Again with the nods.

Leaning forward slowly, Sweets shifted his eyes between the two partners, clasping his hands together on his desk. He paused for dramatic effect, and both Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan shifted nervously in their seats.

"Soooo... if that's the case... why are you two not speaking?"

For the first time, he saw a real emotion cross the anthropologist's face...just for a second. She crossed her arms and looked Sweets straight in the eye.

"Maybe we've said everything that needs to be said, and resolved everything that we can fix. Maybe there's nothing left to say." Her face dared him to contradict her, and despite his best efforts to stay unaffected, he felt intimidated by her. Quickly, he deflected.

"Do you agree with that assessment, Agent Booth?"

If looks could kill... Booth apparently resented his time in the spotlight. His knee resumed its frantic jittering. "I think... there's a problem, Sweets."

Brennan's eyes flew over to her partner. _They had a secret. One which she was afraid he was going to reveal now._

"Oh? What would that be?" he asked carefully.

He seemed to consider his words, although he would not meet Brennan's scathing gaze. "See... Bones and I have a goal. Which is to be the best..._ professionals..._ that we can be. But when we started messing around in Angela and Hodgins' marriage... that wasn't professional. It was personal. So..."

"So the emotions got in the way of your goal?"

"Exactly." Booth looked relieved to have been understood. "It's just bad news."

"I see. So you're afraid that the goals of therapy have shifted to something that's incompatible with your goals as professionals."

"Yes."

"Well this makes it so much easier!" he exclaimed. The next words came out before he even considered how his clients might react. "Why didn't you just tell me that this was a case of performance anxiety?"

_"Performance anxiety?"_ Agent Booth snapped out of his seat and headed towards him, and Dr. Brennan swiftly uncrossed her legs, moving to stand as well.

Sweets suddenly had the feeling he should duck.

"I think you're assuming I mean sexually, Agent Booth," he said quickly. "That's not what I'm referring to."

The agent paused. "Then what," he said slowly, "are you _referring_ to?"

He straightened his tie nervously. "The two of you have what you consider goals, as you just said, correct? Tasks? Things that you deem important." He cleared his throat. "Like remaining very professional in your partnership - and most recently, trying to salvage your friends' marriage."

Dr. Brennan nodded while her partner simply stood still, watching him.

"Well, I believe the stress of feeling the need to perform those tasks and reach those goals may actually be impairing your performance."

The pair just blinked, and Agent Booth crossed his arms across his chest defensively. "And?"

"The two of you think so much about what would happen if you failed that you're in actuality making if far less likely that you'll succeed." He hesitated, then dropped the hammer. "It could ruin your partnership."

The expression on Dr. Brennan's face was difficult to read, but she seemed to be considering what he'd just said. Agent Booth was far easier to understand - his face said quite plainly he thought Sweets was full of shit.

He glanced between the two, waiting for one of them to finally speak. Dr. Brennan suddenly stood, her arms also crossed in the same defensive pose as her partner as she headed towards the FBI agent, stopping next to him. "So what exactly do you suggest we do about it?" she asked cautiously, her voice full of skepticism.

Again, he hesitated. "Well... there's this exercise."

"No," Booth said sharply. "No more exercises."

"I thought you said the listening one worked and that -"

"It _did._ But that was enough, Sweets. We're not children. I'm not sitting around in a circle with a stupid spoon talking about my feelings anymore."

"It wasn't a circle," his partner said quietly.

"Huh?"

"There was only the two of us. A circle is impossible."

Booth threw her an exasperated look, but Dr. Brennan took a step closer. "What kind of exercise?"

Sweets looked at the two of them, standing in front of him, standing _above him,_ really, from where he sat at his desk. Taking a deep breath, he sat back in his chair. "It's called... Sensate focus."

Brennan reacted immediately. Sweets should have known. Despite her stated lack of interest in psychology, the woman certainly made sure she was well-read on all sorts of topics. She chastised him with eyes as wide as saucers. "That. Is _incredibly unethical _of you to even suggest, Dr. Sweets. Why would you even _think _to... how could you even... just because I told you that..."

Her partner, of course, was incredibly lost, but her strong reaction had awakened his curiosity. "What are you guys talking about? What's that? Sentient Focus?"

He needed to rein this in, fast. "It's not in the way you are thinking..."

But the anthropologist bowled right over him. "I understood that I brought my problems with orgasming during oral sex into the therapy room, but _not _as a therapeutic problem... I just said it for honesty's sake..."

"You want us to talk about her orgasms again?" Booth looked one hundred percent horrified.

"...And I can _assure _you that the possibility of Booth and I having _any _kind of sex has been completely ruled out and..."

"_What? _ This isn't _that _kind of therapy!" Booth exclaimed.

"_Dudes_." He said it in the loudest voice he could muster. Surprisingly, it actually shut them up. "Would you just listen to me?" Taking their continued second of silence to be an answer, he went ahead. "Sensate focus. Literally means, focusing on the feeling, on the here and now. It's a technique _typically _used in sex therapy..."

Two sets of mouths open to protest, but he continued quickly.

"...but not this time. I want you, simply, to remove all the goal-directed behaviors from your interaction. All those things you do, that are intended to make you be perceived as purely professional... all the things that are intended to help or fix other people... all the things you do that have an end goal... I want you to forget about them. For one day. For 24 hours." They still looked suspicious. "Take away the goal, and you'll rediscover the things about communicating with one another that you actually _enjoy. _That make you work well together."

"This is pointless, Sweets," Booth told him derisively. "There is _nothing _we do that doesn't have a goal. The whole _point _of working together is towards _some sort of goal."_

"Forget it," Brennan said softly. "He's too afraid. He won't do it."

_Oh, _here _we go. This is the Booth and Brennan that I remember._

Booth's head snapped around. "_Afraid!"_

"Yes," she taunted. "I know that bothers you. When you lose track of your goals. When you cross your lines. I know how awful that can be for you."

Sweets recognized the look on his face from their last session. He had promised himself not to let them leave that way again. "It's not an option, guys. It's a condition of therapy."

"And if we don't?" Booth threatened.

Sweets sighed. He hated pulling out the big guns. But these two needed _something. _"Then, you haven't fulfilled the requirements of your mandated therapy, and you may not be able to work as partners anymore."

Brennan crossed her arms. "Maybe it's not so important to Booth that I stay his partner anymore," she said quietly.

_Still provoking him, I see._

To Sweets' surprise, he didn't shout at her. He looked at her intensely. "You _know _that it's important to me, Temperance. You _know _that," he whispered, as if saying it softly would keep Sweets from hearing.

_Her first name? I thought _I _was pulling out the big guns, Agent Booth._

Brennan fell silent, her cheeks coloring a slightly darker shade of pink.

"Okay, then," Sweets finally said, diffusing the new, uncomfortable silence. "Let's plan it. Just 24 hours. Just Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan. No aim, no goal. Just...talking."

His clients looked as if had just given them a death sentence.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Enjoy these daily updates while they last, lovelies. Mia won't be on pain meds FOREVER, and eventually somebody's going to realize that Jamie's is sneaking writing time between progress notes, and fire her ass. **

**Your comments are like our morning coffee. Essential to keep us going:)**

**Loves!**

* * *

The quick rapping at the door startled him from his current task, and he tossed the t-shirt he'd been holding into the open suitcase with a sigh. Weaving his way though the toys Parker had once again not put away, he made his way to the front door.

"Hodgins."

Jack had a folder tucked under his arm as he stepped inside the house. "You weren't answering your cell phone, and Brennan said you were probably at home." He held out the folder.

Nodding, he headed down the hallway towards his bedroom, tossing the file on the hall table as Jack followed. "Yeah, I'm just packing."

"Brennan said she had to do that too - you guys have another case out of town?" He frowned, pausing at the door to his bedroom, obviously not sure if he should follow. "We're not really done with this one."

Sighing heavily, Booth picked up another pair of jeans. "It's not exactly a... case."

Hodgins raised an eyebrow.

"We're going to a... a cabin."

"Dude. You two are going on _vacation_ together?"

"_No!" _he thundered, startling even himself. "I mean, no. We're not. Sweets is making us go."

"I thought you guys were done with therapy." Hodgins took a tentative step closer, then made his way slowly until he was on the opposite side of the bed, glancing down into his suitcase. "Angela said Brennan told her you guys weren't going anymore."

"Well, he decided we're not done," he muttered. "And apparently if we don't go on this stupid trip, he's threatening to suggest we be split up."

"Oh, man. That sucks."

He grit his teeth. "Tell me about it."

Hodgins was quiet for a minute as he watched him pull a handful of socks from his dresser. "But... why a cabin?"

"He's making us do another one of his stupid exercises," he griped. "And it has to be for 24 hours, and we're not supposed to be interrupted."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What kind of exercises?"

"Something focus."

Hodgins paused. "Something?"

"Yeah, sentient or something."

_"Sensate?"_

"Yeah, that's it."

"Dude. That's _sex therapy._"

His eyes narrowing, he dropped the handful of socks into the suitcase. "How do you know that?" he muttered.

"Hey, it's about sex," he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling. "I like to stay informed - I read Kama Sutra, too."

"Just shut up. It's not about sex for us," he said sharply.

"Sorry, my bad," Hodgins chuckled, taking a step back, his hands up in surrender. "It just seems like sometimes you guys -"

Exasperated, he wrenched his closet door open, looking for a wool sweater. "Look, Bones and I are professional, alright? And I'm sick and tired of everyone either telling us we _aren't_ or making us _do things_ that aren't... professional." He paused, yanking a sweater off a hanger. "Like going to a cabin alone."

The idea of the cabin had his guts in a knot. It would make him nervous regardless, being alone in such an intimate setting for so long with her, but after the other night? He was practically sweating at the thought. She'd been so angry with him, she'd been shaking. And she'd never thrown him out before, never reacted so viscerally to any of their arguments.

"You don't think Sweets is being professional?"

"You _do?_" he asked, amazed. "C'mon, Hodgins. We're partners. We work together. And he's sending us off like we're -"

"Married?"

He gave the scientist a dirty look, flipping his suitcase closed.

"Whatever. It's unprofessional. And if I didn't have such a full plate this week, I'd make a complaint to the bureau and ask for another therapist."

"You're too busy to make a phone call?" Hodgins followed him as he headed towards the kitchen as he tugged out two beers and handed one to his colleague, spinning off the top.

"So?" he shrugged. "I have a lot to do."

Hodgins grinned. "You're just afraid they'll give you someone you can't bully or intimidate."

_Oh, no? _He gave the man next to him a hard look, watching him squirm slightly. "That's not possible," he said, his voice low.

Clearing his throat, Jack pulled on the label on his beer bottle. "Maybe part of you wants to go."

He swiveled his head back around to look at him from where he stood. Despite the fact that the comment irritated him, he was determined not to give anyone any more ammunition. Hodgins was married to Angela, and Angela was practically a mind-reader. Maybe it had rubbed off on her husband.

"Part of me wants to spend 24 hours in the woods in a small cabin with Bones, huh?" he asked, attempting to sound casual. "Yeah, that doesn't sound stressful or irritating at all."

Hodgins smirked. "You do realize that for someone who claims to want a totally professional relationship with his partner, you spend a lot of spare time together, right?"

Scowling, he leaned against the counter. "We eat together sometimes. That's all."

"Every day, man. Every day. Even when you don't have a case."

Exasperated, he threw a hand up. "So we're friends, Hodgins. So what?"

"So your relationship isn't strictly professional if you're friends, that's what."

"You know what I meant," he muttered.

Pulling out a stool at his breakfast bar, Jack took a seat. "You mean the sex thing?"

"Would people _stop_ saying that?" he exploded. "_God!_"

"Seriously. Why does it bother you so much?"

"Because she's my _partner."_

Hodgins raised an eyebrow. "Dude. We're men. Thinking about women naked is like... normal." He grinned. "I mean, if it helps, _I've _imagined having sex with her before."

He practically choked on his beer. "You _what?_"

"Well, c'mon, man. She's hot, alright? I'm married but I'm not _blind. _It's not like I sit around thinking about it all the time or anything, but..._" _He grinned. "Sometimes when she's relaxed and having fun she's..."

_Sexy. Mesmerizing. Absolutely beautiful... Fucking hotter than any other woman. Ever._

"...pretty hot. Right?"_  
_  
Booth blinked, and while his eyes were pointed in the scientist's direction, they were unfocused. Because his head was suddenly full - full of images of his partner. And while he'd fantasized for years about her, now he had tangible evidence of how she'd feel under his hands, of the noises she'd make, of the way her mouth felt opened and hot against his own.

_He could practically taste her._

"Booth."

He shook his head. "Huh?"

Hodgins chuckled. "You're telling me you've never thought about sex with Brennan? After three years of being her partner?"

_No, never. Only every goddamn day. _He felt a flush rising up his neck. "I respect her, Jack."

His friend looked amused, leaning his elbows on the counter. "You can't respect a woman and want to take her to bed at the same time?"

He paused, trying to remain calm and impassive. "It just wouldn't be a good idea."

Jack's eyes twinkled. "So you _have_ thought about it."

His frustration finally reached it's peak. "_Yes,_ okay, are you _happy?_ Yes, I've thought about it. I'm not blind either, for fuck's sake! But it's not gonna happen, Jack, alright? It would never work out. Work and romance don't _mix_, okay? It just ends badly! And we're just too... different."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he froze. Hodgins was still looking at him, but surprisingly he didn't seem angry or offended. Swallowing, he pushed off the counter.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"You mean too different like Angela and I?" he asked quietly, his eyes shining.

He rubbed his jaw, setting his beer on the counter, feeling like a jackass. "I didn't mean -"

"Yeah, you did," the scientist said slowly, and then a crooked smile stretched across his face. "Angela told me about your 'line'."

_Was everyone going to give him shit about the damn line? _

"What line?" he muttered.

"Whatever, man. Just... don't give up on us quite yet, Booth. The fat lady hasn't started singing yet."

He shook his head, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

"It's just..." He peeled the label entirely off his bottle, smoothing it out on the counter top. "We had a good night after we joined you guys at therapy, that's all."

_They had?_ He'd figured that after _that_ therapy session, he and Bones had only helped drive the final nail in their coffin. And while he and his partner had been throwing themselves about her apartment, trying to outdo the other, trying to dominate and control the other... Jack and Angela had finally gotten somewhere - together. He suddenly felt a pang of regret in his chest, and even a little envy.

"Oh," he said quietly. Awkwardly, he took a sip of his beer. "Well, that's great."

Hodgins nodded, raising his head, a smile sneaking on his face. "So... " he said devilishly. "How many beds are in this cabin?"

Without thinking, he picked up a damp dishtowel from the counter and sent it sailing until it smacked Jack in the face.

"_Hey_!" he said, his voice a mixture of disgust and amusement. "What? Seriously, you're really going to head off to a cabin, which, let's face it, probably only has one bed, for 24 hours with your partner and you're going to act _one hundred percent professional_?" He laughed. "Give me a break."

Dropping onto a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, he wearily gave up. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he sighed.

"We'll be lucky if we don't kill each other."

* * *

Brennan couldn't get used to the sprawling Hodgins estate. She always felt as if she were about to be in the presence of royalty, rather than her quirky colleague and her free-spirited best friend, and felt vaguely surprised when it wasn't a butler who opened the door, but Angela in her pajamas.

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" she asked, suddenly and inexplicably anxious.

"I wish," her friend grinned, then gestured with her head for Brennan to enter. "Nah. It's been awhile since I felt comfortable in this place, and I felt like changing that. So... pajamas at 5:45 pm it is."

She followed her friend into the foyer, noting with a smile the lightness in the artist's step.

"You said you needed to borrow something?" Angela asked.

"Oh. Yes. Do you still have those Asolo boots? When I was in Peru, my hiking boots were practically destroyed. The surface configuration of that area was a _nightmare _to walk through."

"Absolutely. Although I always knew that the whole reason you decided to be my best friend was because we share the same shoe size." Giving her a wink, Angela again motioned for her to follow to her bedroom.

"Thanks, Ange. You're great."

"Are you taking another trip again? Because I'll cry if you're gone for another month. I was so distraught last time that I didn't shop for like, three whole days."

"Drama queen," she murmured, looking around the huge bedroom. Angela's closet was the size of Brennan's living room. No wonder the woman could buy an average of 3 pairs of shoes every Tuesday. "Sweets is forcing Booth and I to do another exercise."

"Really?" Angela looked interested. "And this exercise literally involves exercise?"

"I don't think that's the intention. But there is no _way _that Booth and I are going to sit staring at each other for an entire day and night without doing _some _kind of activity. And since we are going to be in the middle of nowhere... hiking seems as good a choice as any."

Her friend turned from the closet, one boot in hand, incredibly slowly. "Sweetie? I think I might have misheard you. Because I _swear _you said that your therapy assignment is to spend the night alone with Booth in the woods."

"Day _and _night," she corrected grimly, flopping onto the king-sized bed and pulling a pillow to her chest.

"Okay." The boots were tossed by their laces into the corner of the room, and Angela climbed onto the bed next to her. "You're going to have to explain this one to me. In detail."

She was still trying to figure this one out herself. "You ever hear of sensate focus?"

"No. Is that another term for 'let's hike because that's what the kids are calling it these days'?"

Brennan ignored her. "It's a technique devised by William Masters and Virginia Johnson to cure sexual dysfunction."

"Well _that _sounds interesting. Go on." Flipping to her belly, Angela listened with interest.

"The idea is that sexual dysfunction is caused by spectatoring. Sex is considered to be a natural function, like eating or breathing or sneezing. Aside from health problems, the only thing that might disrupt that natural functioning is intense anxiety about not being able to perform. The more one critiques his performance, stresses over getting that erection or having that orgasm, the less likely one is to actually achieve those things."

"Oh my God! Poor Booth!"

Sighing deeply, Brennan corrected her. "This _isn't about _Booth. Would you just listen to me?"

Her friend made a lip-zipping motion.

"Okay. So sensate focus aims to eliminate those anxiety-provoking goals, desensitize the person from all those performance-inhibiting anxieties. The couple goes through this whole succession of exercises where the goal is to just touch and be touched the way it feels good. No sex allowed, no arousal responses necessary, no orgasms expected. By removing the goals, all that's left is... whatever comes naturally. And, almost always, that leads to the thing that the couple wanted all along: sexual pleasure."

"Bren?"

"What?"

"I'm getting horny now."

She smacked the giggling artist on the side. "You're incorrigible."

"Okay, okay. So. You're going camping with Booth in order to not have orgasms?"

"No_."_

"In order _to _have orgasms?"

_"No. _Angela, I'm going to kill you."

"_Fine. _What then?"

"We're going away from D.C. and from our jobs for a day to remove the goals and aims of our occupation. Sweets thinks that once we let go of those pressures, we'll be able to function normally again. That we'll stop mentally critiquing ourselves and each other, and just... do what comes naturally."

"I see." She had to give Angela credit. Her friend seemed to be working very hard to not laugh hysterically in her face. "Well. That's quite the interpretation. What do _you _think?"

She covered her face with the pillow. "I think it's a disaster in the making," she told her, her voice muffled.

"Why?"

_Why. _There was that question again. She distinctly remembered what happened the last time she and Booth "did what came naturally." In fact, those memories were a cinematic event that replayed over and over in her mind. The way he had thrust his hand in her shirt and his tongue in her mouth... lifting her, moving her easily, playing her body like he had known it for a lifetime. Just for a few minutes, nothing they did had been thought out, processed, intellectualized. It had been real. It had been..

_Fucking hot._

And, a few moment later, a huge mistake.

She dropped the pillow. "I don't know, Ange. I just feel like all this focus on non-work stuff has made things harder for us, not easier. I fail to see what a whole day of it will accomplish."

Angela looked thoughtful. "You know what, Sweetie? I totally respect and am in awe of the way you do your work. It's an incredible thing to watch. But also... I think that the times I've seen you the happiest, the most content, the most having-fun... have all been times we were away from the lab." Reaching over, Angela pushed her now-messy hair from her face. "There is more to you than Dr. Temperance Brennan, the brilliant scientist. There is also this sweet, funny, gorgeous woman who is really a joy to spend time with."

"You're going to make me blush, Ange."

"Too bad." Angela grinned. "There is also more to Booth than the work he does. And it sounds to me like Sweets wants that sweet, funny, gorgeous woman and that kind, strong, _sexy _man to spend some time together and get to know each other."

She gave her friend a warning look.

"To _talk," _she emphasized. "And, I can't imagine... if you really let that happen... that it could be a disaster."

It wasn't Angela's fault. Brennan knew something that she didn't know. All that her friend saw was that when the brilliant scientist and the F.B.I. agent got together, there was tension.

What she didn't know was that when the _real _Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth got together... it was a fucking lit powder keg ready to explode.


	13. Chapter 12

_**A/N: and so the cabin saga begins... twenty-four hours. what WILL they do with all that time? probably argue and play cards, huh? yeah, that's what we thought, too.**_

_**we must say - was quite surprising how many people wanted Jamie to continue to DRUG Mia so y'all could get updates. tsk tsk, you guys. seriously. still, we admire your commitment to this story. :) let the countdown begin!**_

* * *

**8:36 am**

Neither of them had said a word for the last thirty minutes. He'd picked her up at eight sharp, and had coffee waiting for her, the paper cup sitting on her side of the center console. She'd thanked him quietly, asked if he had directions, and after he'd nodded and handed her the printed out sheet, she'd turned towards the window, the only sound that of tires pulling across the highway at seventy miles per hour.

He glanced at the clock finally, then at his partner. "Bones," he murmured. "What's the letter of the county road I turn onto?"

She didn't move, and he realized she hadn't heard him. "Bones," he tried again. "Hey."

She finally swiveled her head around to look at him, her eyes unfocused, her cheeks pink. "What?"

He was startled by the expression on her face. She looked flushed, her eyes glassy. "Are you alright?" he asked quickly. "Are you getting sick?"

She shook her head, tugging a bottle of water from her leather bag. "No, no," she murmured. "Just tired. I didn't sleep well."

_Me either._

He nodded towards the directions in her lap. "Where do I turn?"

She glanced down. "Oh. Country Road C."

"Thanks." He stole another peek at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"_Yes," _she insisted irritably. "I'm fine, Booth."

"Fine," he muttered. "I'm sorry for asking."

She swallowed, turning back towards the window. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

He sighed. Still forty miles away from the cabin, and he was already miserable. They'd disagreed before, had even argued over a case quite seriously. But there had never been such a deep chasm between them, and he hated it.

She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands escaping and scattering across her face from the now open window next to her. The pink dusting was still on her cheeks, and as she tilted her head to look again at the directions in her lap, his mouth went dry at the exposed line of her throat. It was faint, but still just visible.

_A mark. A mark he'd made with his mouth, a mark made while he'd had her bent over the back of her sofa, her hair fisted tightly in his hand._

Tearing his eyes from her, he faced straight ahead, watching the road, taking several deep breaths.

"You okay?" she asked suddenly. "You want some water?"

He glanced over to see the bottle she was holding out to him. Reaching for it tentatively, he took a sip, his mouth where hers had just been, and his crotch tightened.

_Get a grip, Seeley._

"You look pale," she said quietly. "It's probably all that caffeine - the water should help."

He nodded, handing the bottle back. "Thanks." His eyes flickered to hers for a moment, and for just that brief instant, he saw her - saw the Temperance that had been absent the last few days.

Clearing his throat, he looked back at the road. "You look nice today."

"I do?" She glanced down at her simple attire. "I'm just wearing a t-shirt."

He shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "Yeah, I know. Never mind."

_

* * *

_

This was intolerable. A half hour, and she was already musing about how badly she'd _really _injure herself, should she open the car door and roll out the next time he slowed for a turn. At least musing on that took the place of other memories. Memories of falling on top of him on her living room floor, having the body she'd always admired but never touched right under her fingertips. Right under her tongue...

She shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts, and glanced over at him. His sunglasses disguised his eyes, but his throat bobbed every few minutes. He was nervous too.

"So where did Dr. Sweets find this place?" she finally asked, looking out the window at the increasingly dense woodlands. "It seems kind of... obscure."

Booth looked intensely relieved to have the silence broken. "Supposedly, his dad's a big hunter. Has this place for deer season every year."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I thought it was weird, too. Can you imagine, Sweets' dad, being so excited when his son was born because now he'd have someone to hunt with, and then the kid grows up and says 'Sorry, Dad. I'd rather stay at home and drool over anime.'"

She smirked. "You sure do make a lot of assumptions about Sweets."

"C'mon, Bones. Sometimes, you can tell a lot about a person just by looking at them, talking with them. And I can tell you for a _fact _that Sweets has a whole stack of Inuyasha's at home."

She didn't understand the reference, so she shrugged and turned away again. "I just wonder if it has electricity."

His head swiveled. "It might not have_ electricity? _He'd _do that to us? _I thought we'd have a tv or something._"_

"A lot of hunting cabins don't. It's not a hotel."

The car slowed, and she saw his desperate look out of the corner of her eye. "You know what, Bones? He'd never know if we actually did this or not. We could just stop by, move a few things around and make it looked lived in if anybody checked, and go home and have a relaxing day and night. We could tell him anything we wanted."

Even though she had been thinking something similar just a few minutes ago, irritation rose in her at the suggestion. "Is it really so bad to have to be in the same room as me for a day, Booth?" She had meant it to come out angrily, but couldn't disguise the twinge of hurt in her voice.

"_No." _He seemed surprised at the implication. "I just thought... maybe _you'd _be uncomfortable."

"You don't have to do me any favors," she said, a little bitterly.

* * *

**9:03 am**

The silence was starting to drive him slowly insane. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he glanced at her for a moment. She'd attempted to put on the radio earlier, but none of the stations were coming in clearly the further they headed from DC, and he'd punched it off after several moments of static-filled public radio.

She caught his eyes when she started to shrug off the light jacket she's been wearing, revealing a smooth shoulder where her t-shirt had shoved up under the coat. He couldn't help but let his eyes drift back to the faint bruise against her throat, tracing the mark his mouth had left. Again, his mouth went dry, and he took a deep breath, his eyes drifting back to the road.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?"

She turned her head to face him slowly. "Do we need to?" she asked coolly. "Will it change anything?"

He swallowed. "Bones..."

"We made a mistake. We both think so, clearly. We got angry, we got a little out of control." She raised and eyebrow, swiveling her head back to face straight ahead. "And you left."

His mouth dropped open. "You _told_ me to go."

She didn't respond.

"In fact," he said, getting irritated instantly, feeling his heart starting to pound, "you basically _threw_ me out." He yanked his sunglasses off, looking her in the eye for the first time that day.

She shrugged. "What were we supposed to do, Booth? Talk about it? Have a drink; sit around and discuss what happened?"

He clenched his jaw. "Yes, Bones. I thought we could have a cocktail and discuss very calmly how I mauled you in your living room."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I'm not sure what you want to _talk _about."

Frustrated, annoyed and more than a little hurt that she was being so blasé about the whole thing, he snapped his sunglasses back on. "Just forget it," he muttered.

She was silent for a moment, and he sat there, silently seething when she suddenly turned in her seat, her eyes flashing. "What was I supposed to _do_, exactly, Booth? You just stopped and we were just... staring at one another," she said, her voice uneven.

"So you thought shouting at me and throwing my shirt in my face was the obvious answer?" he tossed at her. "God, I felt like you hated me -"

"I _did _hate you!" she blurted out.

His face went white as he swung his head to face her. "_What?_" he croaked.

Her eyes were wide as her face lost it's own color. "I didn't mean that," she said quietly. "You _know_ that, Booth."

"I don't know what I know," he said tightly. "Not anymore."

He glanced quickly at the road and could see out of the corner of his eye that she closed hers. She took a deep breath, and suddenly she was reaching, her hand falling on his thigh, and he sucked air into his lungs.

"I could never hate you," she said quietly. "You're my partner, one of my best friends." She raised her head, and for a second their eyes met. "I -"

He waited, but she broke off, her hand sliding away from his leg. "I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she suddenly looked distressed. "Booth..."

"I know, Temperance," he said quietly. "I know."

* * *

_Way to keep your emotions out of this, Temperance. Great job._

She chided herself the remaining miles to the cabin. She had made it approximately 45 minutes into their required 24 hours before her anger burst out of her. Of course he wanted to talk _now _about what had happened. She had decided shortly after this trip had been prescribed that she was NOT mentioning that incident. But he had to open his big mouth.

It was just...he had made her feel _so stupid _that night. Making her think that he wanted her, goading her into responding to him, and then backing off..._Sorry, Bones. My bad. Temporary insanity. _She had never felt more humiliated in her life than when she saw him looking at her with guilt in his eyes...pity, probably, for her having been taken advantage of. In that moment, she HAD hated him.

But she didn't hate him now, and the hurt in his eyes when the words left her mouth reminded her just how much she really did care about his feelings. And now she just felt stupid again, for a different reason.

When they got to their intended destination, she practically tumbled out of the car to get away from the bubbling tension that sat between them.

"Notice something, Booth?" she asked him, taking a slow turn to look at their surroundings.

"Yeah. No power lines. Thanks for pointing that out, Bones," he groused, popping the back of the Tahoe and hauling out the small bag he had packed for the occasion.

"Pretty, though," she conceded. Everything was lush and green. In the United States, she spent most of her time in the city, and sometimes she forgot that there were places like this...those that were rarely touched.

He was eyeing the wooden cabin with suspicion, as if it held untold horrors. "Let's check out our new home sweet home for the next day, shall we?"

The place smelled like the woods. She saw him instinctively reach for a light switch when they walked in, and come up empty.

"You have to love the decor," she joked, surveying the antlers on the wall.

"I refuse to believe that anyone related to Sweets ever killed anything larger than a rodent," Booth scoffed. The antlers were pretty large.

Brennan looked at him interestedly. "Have you ever hunted before?"

The look on his face at the moment was unidentifiable. "Not animals."

She decided to leave that one go. Booth the sniper... now _there _was a part of him who she had rarely seen.

She walked slowly around the place. "The good news... it appears we _do _have running water, and a real bathroom. And we have oil lamps. And it's clean."

"Can we just stick with the good news?" Booth asked, wrinking his nose at the large fish that had been so meticulously taxidermied and mounted on a prominent spot on the wall.

"Suuuuuure," she drew out, glancing into the only bedroom and seeing the one bed there that suddenly looked very, _very _small, even though in reality it was probably full-sized. Bad news. _Bad._

_Don't worry about it right now, _she told herself. _You still have the day to get through. You can worry about the night if you can actually survive the next 12 hours._

She felt a sudden warmth behind her, which ironically made her repress a violent shiver. Why did he always have to stand so fucking close to her? Was he _trying _to tease her? She stayed staring straight forward, afraid if she turned her head she'd find his face right there next to hers. He was staring at that inexplicably tiny bed, too.

"There's an armchair out there," he said, quietly. "I can sleep on that."

The gentleman thing again. How quaint. Her anger rose again, just a little. "Whatever," she said shortly, turning quickly and brushing past him back into the living area. The whole time she could feel his eyes burning into her back. Trying to figure her out.

* * *

**9:40 am**

Just like that, she was angry again. He watched her dump her bag on the chair he'd just offered to sleep on. Was she pissed about the fact that there was only one bed? He'd figured that might be the case, but hadn't mentioned it in their hour and a half of almost silence.

_What if she's mad that you offered NOT to sleep with her?_

He shook the thought off, refusing to let his mind go in that direction. She'd been pretty clear in the car - she'd bit his head off when he'd tried to bring up what had happened between them. Clearly, it was off limits, and he would bet the last thing she wanted was to share a bed with him. She would barely even look at him.

"I'm going to take a walk," he said quietly, turning towards the door.

Her heard a pair of boots hit the uneven floor. "I'll come with you," she said quietly.

"You don't have to."

She was quiet for a moment. "Booth, we're supposed to be doing this together. That's the whole reason we're here."

He cocked his head at her. "Are you going to talk to me as much as you did in the car? Because I can be all alone by myself."

She sat down in the armchair, reaching for a boot, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. "You were quiet, too," she murmured.

He took a deep breath, dropping down into a squat in front of her, meeting her eyes. "I want us to get along, Bones. I don't want to fight with you - I feel like we've been fighting non-stop for weeks."

She pressed her lips together, pulling her laces tightly. "I know."

"We got involved in our friends' problems, and all it did was drive this wedge between us," he admitted. "This was why -" He cut himself off sharply, standing up.

"This was why what?" she asked cautiously.

He turned his back on her, pretending to examine the deer head above the fireplace. "Why I try to stay... professional."

She didn't respond right away, and before he could turn around, she was brushing past him, reaching for the door. She paused, her hand on the knob, turning to face him. "We're a little too far past that now, aren't we?" she said slowly, her voice low.

It was almost an acknowledgment, and it hung between them for a moment - that night that they were both trying to bury. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Let's take a walk."

She nodded, pulling open the door, sunlight streaming in and making her merely a silhouette.

* * *

**10:45 am**

They walked quietly for a long while, although observing the scenery made for a less awkward silence. She appreciated this kind of nature, even though she didn't understand it as well as she did the skeletons which lined their room in limbo. The trees, the insects, the earth... all of them had their own form and function perfect for what they were intended to be. If she believed in a higher power, she might see evidence of it here, with the afternoon rays of sun filtering through the oak canopy, the birds' and crickets' chirping providing the soundtrack for their walk. The fallen leaves were still soft at this time of the year, and the only noises their feet made were the occasional cracking of twigs.

She stopped for a second, leaning against the bark of one of the larger trees. Booth stopped walking and looked back at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She curled her toes, then spread them. Angela's boots were just a bit too small, and she was beginning to feel the pinch. "Just wanted a little rest."

"Okay," he said agreeably, stepping backwards to join her.

Lifting her foot, she squeezed it through the boot, until a movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. "Booth," she whispered, putting a hand on his arm. "Look." She nodded towards a grove of trees several dozen yards away. A deer had stepped out, and was cautiously nibbling at a thatch of clover. Fuzzy stumps graced its head... the precursors to the large antlers that hung on the wall of their home-for-a-day.

"Huh. Look at that," he mused, stilling his movements.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said softly.

His head turned slightly, and it occurred to her that she hadn't taken her hand off his arm. She glanced down at the traitorous fingers that had curled around his bicep, realizing how conspicuous it would be if she removed her hand _now. _Guiltily, she looked back up into eyes.

"Yeah. Beautiful," he rasped.

They hovered for a second, anxiety filling her. Her foot dropped from the tree to the ground, landing directly on a twig which broke with a snap. The deer, realizing it had company, didn't pause to figure out who. It leaped back into its green cover, the brush whooshing over its body as it jumped gracefully.

"You scared it away," Booth accused, but his lips twitched in a smile. He was kidding.

"Well it's not like we were going to make it our pet," she shot back, finally letting her hand drop and using it to push off the tree out of her leaning position.

Taking her cue, he followed. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a wildlife lover, Bones."

She frowned. "I wouldn't call myself a 'lover.' But when I was little, my dad used to take me in the woods behind our house. He would bring all these books on birds and insects and trees, and would give me candy if I identified and classified the ones we saw in under 3 minutes." She smiled at the memory. "My mom would get _so mad_ when we got home because I had gorged myself with taffy and wasn't hungry for dinner. But it was just because I had gotten _so good _at it."

"That is not in the least surprising," her partner said, with an expression that seemed something close to affection. They walked quietly again for another moment.

She surprised herself with the next question she asked. "What did you and your parents do together when you were a kid?" Booth didn't talk often about his family. She rarely asked. But it wasn't a work-related interest. It wasn't goal-directed. Sweets would approve.

Not to mention, she had become just a little bit curious about the Seeley Booth behind the badge.

He glanced over at her. "The normal stuff, I guess. Played ball. Went to games. Watched tv."

"Your dad probably loved that, huh? Having a son to go cheer for in the big game."

Booth didn't respond right away, but when he did, spoke slowly. "Actually, my dad wasn't really a sports fan like I was. I always kind of felt like when he went to my games, he was just humoring me. He and my brother... they liked to build these models. Would do it for _hours. _I tried to get into it, but just couldn't. Couldn't sit still that long. But there were times..." He hesitated.

"What?" she probed.

"You're not going to tell this to Sweets, are you?"

She chuckled. "Not if you tell me not to."

"Not to."

"Fine."

"There were a _few _times when I found myself wishing that I were a model-building geek, instead of an athlete. I might have had less dates... but I would have gotten to spend more time with my dad, and felt like he was really, truly enjoying it."

She considered it for awhile, kicking at a few rocks as they walked down the trail. Booth, having just won that big game, coming home and for just an instant, feeling insecure when his father immediately went to the other room with his brother to work on their model.

Finally, she turned her attention back to the grown-up Booth, walking beside her.

"Thank you."

For a second, she thought he was going to deny knowing what she was talking about, deny that he had told her anything special. But if he were going to, he decided against it.

"You're welcome."

Briefly, they smiled at each other, before they continued with their journey.

* * *

**11:45 am**

He was enjoying himself. The sun had dipped behind a cloud, but the air was still warm, and some of the ease that had always existed between the two of them had returned. He'd missed her these last two weeks - missed _them._ Even his son had noticed that he'd been more melancholy the last few days, and he'd been embarrassed when he'd commented, telling him he was just tired. Still, it had startled him, rocked him a little to hear his son ask him why he looked sad.

"Any idea what kind of tree this is?" his partner asked, stopping and tilting her head back to gaze at the canopy above her. She was resting her palm against the bark, her eyes carefully studying the leaves and branches with the same care she gave to everything else she came across.

"Linden, I think," he said, his voice low.

She looked at him in surprise. "Really?" She took a step closer to him. "How did you know that?"

He smiled, raising an eyebrow. "It's not all sports statistics in here, Bones."

She grinned, the first true, full smile he'd seen from her in days. "I know that. I just didn't know you knew anything about trees."

He shrugged. "I don't, necessarily. But I know some things about the parks in DC - at least when it relates to the government. In the 1850's, they hired a landscaper, and he planted some of these throughout the city." He tilted his own head back. "I recognized them, that's all."

She smiled again, backing away from him slowly, her voice almost playful. "Recognize any more?"

Her mood was catching. He started towards her, a smile stretching his own face, and he was about to say something flirtatious back when he suddenly he saw the large branch.

"Bones, watch out for that -"

"_OW_!"

He rushed over to her, her body sprawled on the ground, her arms propping her up. She blew a quick breath out, knocking the hair out of her eyes. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly, dropping down next to her.

"I sprained my ankle."

_Crap. _"Are you sure?"

She gave him a look that told him it was quite possibly the most ridiculous question to ask her. Of course she would know.

"You didn't break it, did you?"

"No, I'm fairly certain it's only a sprain."

He glanced up at the cloud cover, seeing less and less blue. Dropping his gaze to her, he felt a pang in his chest at the way her face was scrunched up in obvious discomfort. He reached out gently, lifting her ankle on to his thigh. "This one?"

She nodded, wincing even at his light touch. Peeling back the hem of her jeans, he glanced at it. Even through the top of her boot, he could see it starting to swell. "We should probably leave the boot on until we get back to the cabin. You'll never get it back on otherwise."

"Okay," she said tightly. She looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and incredibly trusting. He reached out, brushing more hair out of her eyes. "Can you stand?"

"I'll try."

It was obvious in a matter of seconds that she couldn't. When she attempted to put weight on it, she let out a hiss, and he immediately grabbed for her. "Okay, okay. Hang on to me, I've got you. Don't put weight on it."

She looked at him helplessly. "Then what do you suggest?"

He didn't hesitate. "I'll carry you."

Her mouth dropped open. "Booth, that's ridiculous. It's at least a mile and a half back to the cabin."

"We were already on our way back - it might not be that far. Besides, you have another idea?"

"I'll wait here and you can go see if you can drive the truck closer."

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you _insane?_ I'm not leaving you in the woods alone, Bones. Not in this lifetime." The minute he said it, his mind immediately filled with all the horrible things that could happen to her out here. _Leave her alone? No fucking way._

The stubborn look that crossed her face was one he was all too familiar with. She opened her mouth, but before she could even say one word, he clapped his hand over it. "Listen to me. I am _not_ leaving without you. So either your ankle heals itself miraculously, or I carry you. Or we both sit out here all night - your choice."

Her shoulder slumped in defeat, and he slowly removed his hand.

"It's too far to carry me," she insisted, her eyes full of doubt.

"Ye of little faith," he scoffed. Turning around, he presented her with his back. "Okay. Climb on."

She hesitated for a moment, and then he felt the warmth of her body against his back, her arms holding onto his shoulders. He reached back around, clasping on to her thighs and hoisting her up, and her legs locked around his hips. "You okay?" he asked her quietly.

She nodded against his back, and he started off in the direction they'd come from, trying to find some sort of path to make the trek easier.

"You ever carried someone like this before?"

He swiveled his head to peek at her. "Why? Seeing if I'm up to the challenge?"

"Just curious, is all."

_Right. She's always "just curious". _"Parker."

She rested her chin on his shoulder. "Besides Parker. He must be no more than forty pounds."

"You. On Halloween, when you were all freaked out by those snakes. Right before you shot me."

He couldn't see her face, but could feel her scowl on his shoulder. "That was only for a minute! Other than _that."_

The smile slipped from his face as he remembered. Weaving his way around a tree, he let out a slow breath before answering her. "A buddy of mine, once."

She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her breath was warm next to his ear. "Why?"

His jaw tightened at her question. "He was shot."

It was almost as if she sensed the new tension in him, and she tilted her head so that her cheek rubbed against his shoulder gently, almost like a caress. "I'm sorry."

Despite not knowing how to respond to her attempts to soothe him, it meant something. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for," he said quietly. "It was a long time ago."

He'd walked several minutes before she spoke again. "Did he survive?"

He let out a slow breath. "Yeah, he did."

"Because of you?"

The question startled him. "I don't know, Bones."

She didn't really question his answer, which was also surprising. Instead, she asked him something else.

"Were you scared?"

His fingers were still wrapped around her thighs, and he shifted her slightly, boosting her an inch or so higher. "When?"

"When you were carrying him."

"Yeah, of course I was scared," he said quietly. "He was one of my closest friends. We did everything together - traveled together when we were on leave, got drunk together. I stood up for him in his wedding." He skirted to avoid a dip in the earth, stepping carefully, trying not to jostle her and cause her more pain. "I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't made it."

"Where is he now?"

"Maine. He's an attorney; has two kids. We get together in the summer, go fishing, play some hoops."

"So you met when you were rangers?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"And you worked together?"

He frowned, not understanding what she was getting at. "Yeah, I guess you could call what we did work."

"But he was like a partner, sort of?" she asked quietly. "You were together most of the time? And in stressful situations?"

Her line of questioning was unexpected. "What's this about, Bones?"

It took her a moment to answer. "I don't know."

Another ten minutes passed, and he finally paused; the way his shoulders were contorted to hold onto her were beginning to really ache.

"You okay?" she murmured, sounding concerned.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "But I think I have to change my grip. I'm going to put you down for a second, okay?"

"Okay."

Easing her to the ground gently, he turned quickly so she could put her hand on his chest and hang on to keep her balance on one foot. He rolled his shoulders quickly, stretching the muscles despite their protest, and he bit back any sort of expression that might show his own discomfort - her eyes were watching his face carefully.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Put your arms around my neck."

Again, she hesitated, and he set his hands on her waist. "C'mon," he urged. "When I count to three, I want you to push up with that foot and wrap your legs around me."

For a moment she looked nervous, but he started counting and her arms obediently went around his neck. When she jumped up, he caught her carefully, realizing he would lose his grip unless he cupped her bottom. Seeing he had no choice, he held her tightly, adjusting her weight in his arms, and suddenly this position seemed far more intimate than he'd imagined when his muscles had been screaming at him to change how he held her.

She must have been aware of it as well, because rather than meet his eyes, she rested her head in the crook of his neck. He could smell the scent of her shampoo in her hair, and the silkiness of it brushed against his jaw. Back on the main trail they'd started out on, he felt more confident, and being unable to see directly in front of him seemed less nerve-wracking. Still, he walked carefully, not wanting to injure them both with a misstep.

"Booth?" she suddenly murmured, her breath warm against his throat.

"Hmm?"

He was so acutely aware of her body against his. Her breasts were nestled against his chest, and he could feel the heat between her legs against his stomach. Memories of her swiftly returned, and all he could suddenly see was her as he rolled her beneath him, her eyes shining, her body flushed and her chest heaving with exertion. Grateful that she wasn't pressed against him a few inches lower, he tried to breathe evenly, begging his own body to behave.

_Because he'd pictured this. Pictured her with her legs scissoring around him, her body pressed against his. In his fantasy, they'd be in a hallway on the way to her bedroom - her shirt unbuttoned, his pants unzipped. His mouth would be on hers, his tongue searching for her own._

"Why is it different with your ranger buddy?"

He frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Well, you worked together - and what you did was dangerous. And yet you spent all your spare time with him as well. You were in his wedding, you vacationed together."

"_Oh_," he breathed. "Bones..."

"Every time I try to find out anything about you, you tell me it isn't professional." She paused, the hurt evident in her voice. "Why am I different? I know I'm not exactly the kind of person you'd choose to spend time with outside of work, that we're quite different, but -"

"That's not it," he said quietly, his throat feeling tight.

"Then why?" Her voice sounded small, her question void of any challenge or anger. She simply didn't understand.

And how could he explain it to her? How could he tell her that he'd never thought about making love to his old friend, never wanted to hold him close at night. Instead of getting drunk at bars and hopping from state to state and port to port picking up women with Michael, he now spent his days trying to figure out how to make her smile, spent his hours running around the streets of DC looking for damn toy pigs or cartoon figurines to try and tell her what he couldn't find the words to say.

"It's just different," he managed.

Her nose pressed against his neck, and when she spoke, her lips moved over his skin, almost like a kiss. "Is it because I'm a woman?" she finally asked.

He thought for a moment, struggling with an answer. She could take it the wrong way, could call him sexist or any number of things and it wouldn't surprise him. But it was more than that she was a woman. She was a beautiful woman, a brilliant woman, a woman who'd wormed her way into his life and he didn't want her to leave. But he didn't know how to explain it, and so it was only a half-truth when he answered.

"Yes."

None of the responses he'd expected from her happened. She didn't mutter under her breath that his prejudice was uncalled for, nor did she stiffen or give him a disapproving look. She simply tucked herself more tightly in his arms as he made his way into the clearing, the cabin appearing in front of them.

* * *

**12:32 pm**

As he pulled open the door of the cabin, she look one last look at the woods behind them. Over the tops of the trees, the sky looked grayer, and she was grateful that they had made it back before it started to rain. She was carefully maneuvered through the door and into the living area, and she felt herself being gently lowered into the armchair that Booth had intended on being his bed tonight. As she felt their bodies separating for the first time in more than an hour, she fought a surprising urge to maintain her grip around his neck, to keep his chest clasped against hers, keeping her warm. The logical part of her remembered that he had been carrying her for quite a distance, and was probably much more anxious to be relieved of her proximity than she was of his.

He grunted softly as he was unburdened of her weight, and she watched him closely as he slowly straightened up, twisting his back and stretching his arms and shoulders. The front of her felt cold now, and strangely, she could still feel the outlines of his large hands where they had been supporting her bottom as he carried her. The area tingled, as if it had been a part of _her _that had been removed.

"That was a very impressive show of strength, Agent Booth," she said quietly, with a smile.

"That's what I work out for," he told her, slightly out of breath from all his exertion.

"To carry your klutzy partner when she hurts herself in the woods?"

"Or if there are snakes around," he agreed, and she fought the urge to stick out her tongue at him. "Let's take a look at this."

The look didn't appear good. Above the boot, her ankle was turning lovely shades of blue and purple. "I don't think we're going to be doing any more hiking for awhile," she said sadly.

"Probably not. How badly does it hurt?"

"I've had things hurt a lot worse." It hurt like a bitch.

Kneeling, his fingers traced the swollen area with infinite gentleness, murmuring something about killing Sweets when they got back. "We should drive back and get you to a hospital."

"_No_!"

He met her eyes. They had both been surprised by her vehemence.

"I mean... do you have any Tylenol along?"

He nodded.

"And we don't have ice, but we have cold water. There isn't much they can do at the hospital that we can't just do here. It makes more sense just to stay and finish our exercise. You know if we leave now, Sweets will just make us do this again."

Booth's eyes were studying her, and she felt a flush. Suddenly, she was questioning her own intentions.

"Your sure it's not broken?"

"Absolutely sure."

"Okay," he sighed. "You're the doctor." He rolled up the leg of her jeans. "You work on getting this shoe off. I'm going to go see how cold we can get this water and cue you up some Tylenol."

Gingerly, she bent over and untied the laces to Angela's boot, pulling them out as far as they would go. Her foot burned. Once that task was completed, she stared with dread at her swollen appendage. There was no way around it. Pulling the boot off was going to be an incredibly painful experience.

_Think of something else, Temperance. _Anything _else._

Her mind went to falling over the back of her couch with her partner's hand up her shirt, her hands being held over her head while he straddled her, his breath hot against the skin of her neck...

_Anything but _that.

Fine. Then...

_The security she felt at his insistence that he wouldn't leave her. The strength and ease with which he had lifted her, held her tightly so there was no fear of falling, her legs wrapped around the solidness of his waist and back, breathing in the musky scent of his neck while her face rested gently on his shoulder, feeling safe, feeling taken care of..._

"_OW_. Dammit!"

He rushed over as fast as he could without sloshing the pan of water he held. "Bones! Are you okay?"

_Other than the blinding pain, just peachy._

"Fine," she grimaced, dropping the offending boot on the floor beside her.

He set the pan directly in front of her, turning his hand over to reveal the small white pills he had also been carrying. "Here." Grabbing the thermos of water on the table beside them, he handed it to her.

Greedily, she swallowed them down, barely noticing as he lifted her foot and set it into the pan of water. She gasped. "Holy... That's cold!"

"That's the idea."

She crossed her arms at the indignity and frowned at him while he began untying her other boot and pulling it off along with the sock... this one coming much more easily than the one before it. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for the painkillers to take effect. Her eyes widened as he quietly took a seat on the floor next to her legs, took her uninjured foot into his lap, and began to knead and massage the muscles there.

"I should be the one giving you the foot massage," she managed, her toes flexing with pleasure in spite of herself. "You're the one that carried me for more than a mile."

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the work in front of him. "You're the one in pain. Let's just say you owe me the next time I hurt myself." His fingers worked on the ball of her foot. "Ask me questions and guess who I am," he said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm a famous person in history. Ask me questions. Nothing too obvious, like what I do for a living. But see how many it takes before you can figure out who I am."

She smirked. "This sounds like one of Sweets' exercises."

He finally glanced up at her. "You have anything better to do?"

Good point.

"Okay. Were you older or younger when you became famous?"

He considered. "Older."

"Were you in the entertainment industry?"

"No."

"Okay. Did you invent something?"

"Sort of. I was sort of a pioneer of my field."

Her wheels were turning. This was actually fairly enjoyable. "What was your childhood like?"

"Awful. My father thought I was stupid and told me I wouldn't amount to anything. My teachers agreed."

"That sounds terrible."

"I suppose. But it made me more determined to succeed."

"Hmm." She thought for a moment. "Do you have a family of your own?"

"Yes. And I have a daughter who followed in my footsteps."

"Are you dead now?"

"What kind of question is that? I'm here talking to you."

She laughed. "Smart-ass. I guess I don't get to know that one."

"Nope."

"Fine. What are your hobbies?"

"I like writing books. And smoking."

"What do you smoke?" she asked suspiciously.

"Cigars."

Her mouth curled in recognition, but she was reluctant to have the game end. She was enjoying herself. "Any other interests?"

"I didn't know it at the time, but now I'm pretty good at driving Temperance Brennan absolutely crazy."

Now she was positive she knew, but she tried one more. "Did you have any friends?"

"One. A good friend, who was also a colleague. But we had a difference of opinion in our work, and eventually he got angry with me and left. We spent the rest of our lives in competition."

She chuckled. "I know who you are, Dr. Freud."

"Ah. You got me." He grinned up at her, and she smiled back.

Sitting quietly for a moment, she contemplated. The game was over, but she had one more question. "Why do you think you and Dr. Adler couldn't work out your differences?"

He was silent for a moment, and she thought that maybe he wouldn't answer her. Then: "I suppose we were both pretty hardheaded. We both wanted to be right, all the time. And in the end, our friendship and our admiration of one another couldn't overcome that."

"Oh." Booth understood people better than she did. He was probably right. "Well. That was pretty stupid of the two of you, Sigmund."

"You got that right," he agreed. Glancing up at her, he gave her foot a final squeeze. "You hungry?"

"Very." Now that the pain in her foot had quieted to a dull roar, she was aware of the rumbling in her stomach.

"Me too. Let me go see what I can rustle up."

"Okay. I feel bad that I can't help you."

"Yeah. You probably just hurt yourself so you didn't have to cook."

"No I... oh. You're kidding."

Smiling, he stood up and squeezed her shoulder. "You just relax. I'll take care of everything."

Settling back into the chair, she closed her eyes. The painkillers were working their magic. She let her eyes slip closed, and just for awhile, enjoyed knowing that everything was being taken care of.

* * *

_**do you looooove us? we looooove you. let's talk about our looove... in a review!**_


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: Now, some of you appear to be getting awful anxious-face for the smut. You have to settle down. You think this is hard for YOU? Imagine how B & B feel! They've been going YEARS off of longing looks, tempting touches, and hot bickering, and NOWHERE in there has Hart seen fit to let them go at it like the animals they are! You should just feel lucky that Hart isn't a member of 5 Steamboats Shipping Co.**

**Now. Here's a little something for you. Give us a little lovin' back! :-**

**

* * *

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**3:35 pm**

He dropped the cards on the table, his head falling into his hands. "Bones. Please. _No more King's Corners._ I'm begging you."

A smile twitched at her lips. "You shouldn't have taught it to me, then. I happen to think it's quite enjoyable." She paused, looking around the cabin. "Do you _see_ anything else to do?"

Massaging his temples, he let out a sigh. "I could use a drink."

She gathered up the playing cards, shuffling them again. "Well, have some of that scotch."

He snapped his head up. "What scotch?"

"The scotch that's on the counter by the coffee press."

His chair scooted back loudly as he stood up, striding quickly over to the bottle she'd pointed out. "Excellent."

She continued to shuffle. "If you get drunk, how are we supposed to be "connecting", Booth?"

He couldn't bite back his smile. "I'm not gonna get drunk, Bones. I'm just going to have a drink." He pulled a dusty glass off a shelf, crinkling up his nose. "Is there any dish soap?"

"Check under the sink."

He washed his own glass, than glanced at her. "You want some?"

"It's a little early, isn't it?"

He sloshed some scotch in the glass. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

She frowned, about to open her mouth, and he plunked the glass on the table, dropping into his chair. "It's an expression," he teased.

"Oh."

He leaned back in the wooden chair at the table, nodding to her ankle. "How's that feel?"

She shrugged. "A little achy. The swelling's gone down a bit. Now it's just cold."

"You want your sock back?"

Shaking her head, she started dealing cards. "It's a little tight - kind of uncomfortable."

"You want some more Tylenol?" he asked, sipping at the scotch. It was actually quite good - apparently Sweets' dad had good taste in liquor.

She tossed him another card. "How about poker this time?"

_Not unless you want to play strip poker._

Something about the scotch in his mouth made his mind immediately betray him, and his body wasn't far behind. "Bones. Enough with the cards."

She sighed, dropping her hand. "Fine. What do you want to do then? We can't just sit in silence."

He tapped his fingers on the table. "How about... truth or dare?"

She scrunched up her face. "I have a sprained ankle. If that game entails what I think it does, I don't think I get very much choice." Shifting in her seat, she moved her ankle where he'd propped it up on a third chair and winced.

"Here," he said quietly, shoving the glass across the table. "Dull the pain a little."

She hesitated, but then lifted the glass. He could hear small pings against the windows - it was starting to rain. Pausing, the glass against her lips, she looked at the windows. "Hope the roof doesn't leak."

"Okay, fine. You don't like truth or dare. What do you want to do, then?"

She considered this for a moment, handing back the scotch. "Close your eyes."

"Bones..."

She tilted her head. "Awww, c'mon, Booth. Humor me."

He swallowed. His gut was reacting, and he had no idea why. "Fine." He let his eyes flutter closed, his arms crossing across his chest. "Now what?"

"Russ and I used to play this on car trips. Kept us from driving our parents crazy. Call it a... test of observation."

His shoulders dropped. "Bones, this is -"

"What am I wearing?"

He paused, his nerves still pinging slightly. "A t-shirt. And jeans."

"What color t-shirt?"

"White."

"Anything else about it?"

He shifted slightly in his chair. This felt dangerous somehow, but how was he supposed to tell her that. It sure seemed innocent enough. "It's v-neck," he said quietly.

She was quiet for a minute. "What color were my socks?"

He frowned, trying to place the memory. "I don't know."

"My jacket?"

He didn't know why he couldn't remember. "The green one?"

She laughed. "No."

He started to open his eyes. "Bones -"

"Eh! No peeking!" she said quickly. "This isn't _that_ boring, is it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "What about my eyes?"

"What about them?" he asked cautiously.

"What color are they?"

He uncrossed his arm, reaching out carefully in search of the glass, guiding it to his lips blindly. "They're more than one color."

He could almost see her frown, even with his eyes closed. "What do you mean?"

He couldn't help himself. "They change," he murmured. "Depending on your mood. When you're working, when you're focused, they're cobalt." He took another sip, swallowing. "When you're angry, they're darker, more like navy. When you laugh they're lighter - almost sky blue." He took one more sip. "And sometimes, when you look at me, they're..."

"They're what...?"

The scotch burned down his throat, and his eyes popped open, meeting hers across the table. Several of the lanterns were lit in the room due to the darkening skies, and he could see them clearly, the color of them rarer than the others. "Cerulean," he said quietly.

She reached for the glass, taking a large swallow herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It didn't seem to matter what she did anymore, what gesture she made, how she moved her body. It was all sexy to him, all the time. Her hand fell away, and her lips shone damply, and he took a deep breath. Jumping up, he grabbed the bottle of scotch, not bothering with another glass.

Maybe, when it came to games, they should have stuck with cards.

* * *

**4:28 p.m.**

"Wait, wait, wait. I've got it now."

"Well finally."

"I had to think of a lie!" she exclaimed. "I don't do that very often."

"Maybe you should practice more, like a normal person," he grinned.

"Shh. Okay. I learned how to dance the Macarena in Spain. I won first place in the Greek mythology bee in 7th grade. And I cheated on a test in college." The scotch she had been sipping seemed to be warming her blood, and it wasn't an all-unpleasant sensation.

He was lounging as much as one could lounge in a hard, wooden chair. "That's an awful lie! C'mon, Bones, you can do better than that."

"Which one?" she insisted.

His eyes rolled. "Everybody knows you would never cheat on a test. That's the lie."

"Ha!" she cried. "Wrong. The second one was a lie. I didn't win first place in the mythology bee. I won second place."

"Whaaaaat? That's so obscure," he moaned.

She grinned like a hyena.

"So you mean to tell me you cheated on a test? Temperance Brennan," he scolded.

She flushed a deeper shade than the scotch had already made her. "It was a take-home test. We were supposed to work alone. And my friend and I worked on it together."

His mouth dropped open. "Oh c'mon! That's not cheating! That's good sense! That one doesn't count."

"It was against the rules," she insisted primly.

"You badass," he deadpanned.

This time she didn't resist; she stuck her tongue out at him.

He looked mock-offended. "Don't you stick that thing out at me, Dr. Brennan. Or I'll..."

"You'll what?" she challenged, before it struck her that there were _plenty _of other activities that involved her tongue and him, that played through her head late at night.

He seemed to turn redder, too. Oh, God. Could he _see what she was thinking? _Of course not. That wasn't possible. But right now, she felt completely transparent, and she squirmed in her seat, looking down at their abandoned cards.

If he could see through her, he was merciful, either choosing not to answer her hypothetical question, or not being able to think of a witty reply. He cleared his throat. "It's getting kind of cold in here, don't you think?"

Actually, it seemed to be growing warmer by the second, but she was relieved for the diversion. "Yes. Should we start a fire?"

"And by 'we,' you mean me?" he teased.

"I'll offer moral support," she promised.

"What would I do without you?" he said, smiling, as he stood. "Let me put my shoes back on."

"Maybe you shouldn't be playing with fire while you've been drinking," she called after him over the increasingly loud sound of rain on the roof and the windows, while he maneuvered over to the spot where he had dropped his shoes by the armchair. She couldn't seem to stop smiling. How she had missed the easiness of the two of them together. Maybe Sweets was right. Aside from the incident with her ankle, this little trip had been doing wonders for them. Then:

"_Shit_!"

She nearly jumped out of her skin. "What? What!"

"Look at this!" He came back to the kitchen area, holding a shoe in his hand, and turned his back to her.

She burst out laughing.

"There is _nothing funny_ about this, Bones," he said indignantly. "Apparently, there _is _a leak in the roof. _Right over the damn chair."_

_"Ow. _Stop... making me laugh, Booth," she gasped between giggles. "It hurts my foot."

"Your foot? What about my ass!"

"I'm sorry about your wet ass," she said, as mournfully as she could manage before breaking up into laughter again.

"I should make you build your own damn fire," he grumbled, taking another gulp from the scotch bottle before heading back to the living area, unbuckling his pants along the way. They were halfway down his hips before she forced herself to turn her head.

_Don't you even dare look, Temperance. _It reminded her of the police speaking to the gawkers at some of their more public crime scenes. _Nothing to see here, folks. _Except in this case, there was _plenty _to see.

She made small talk with him while he fussed around with the fireplace, and she examined her ankle. The throbbing was starting to return; she'd need more Tylenol soon. And possibly an amputation. She smiled at her Angela-like dramatic thought.

After several minutes, he entered the kitchen again, sweatpants in place of his wet jeans. "Come see," he said, taking her arm to help her up. She swung her leg off the chair carefully, leaning on him while he wrapped a protective arm around her waist. "You okay?"

"Yes," she said, hobbling as he moved her towards the other room.

"What do you think?" he said proudly. He had gotten the fire burning strong and high, crackling almost as loudly as the sound of the rain outside. In front of it, he had laid out one of the extra quilts from the bed, and had piled up all the pillows he could find around it.

"For me?" she asked, touched.

"Yup. Come sit down." Taking those few extra steps, he took her shoulders and helped her ease down onto the blanket, propping her up with the pillows at her back. "How's that?"

"It's..." _It's incredible. No one has done anything like this for me, or taken care of me this way, since my parents left. And I don't know why you are doing it for me now, but sometimes it makes me want to cry. _"It's really nice, Booth. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He was kneeling beside her, fingers tracing over the swollen foot again, with that concerned look on his face being lit up by the glow of the fire.

"Hey Booth?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

She thrust her leg out towards him. "I dare you to fix it."

He chuckled, capturing the injured foot in his hand gently. "I thought we weren't playing truth or dare."

"I thought it was worth a try," she sighed.

"It hurt that bad, huh?"

"Pretty bad," she admitted.

She wasn't sure what she had expected him to do. But it wasn't to lift her bare foot and lower his head, brushing his lips against the tender skin of her ankle. His mouth lingered there, unmoving, but warm. At the spot where he touched her skin, the throb turned into a tingle. She repressed a gasp. As he finally lowered her foot to the blanket, he looked at her intently.

"What is that supposed to do?" she managed after finding her voice. Her heart was pounding.

"Fix it." He shrugged. "The Tylenol, the cold water, and that... it's about all I've got." She could see the flames reflected in his eyes.

Unable to tolerate the intensity of his gaze, she glanced down at her foot. Miraculously, the thing felt better... the spot that was slightly damp from his lips almost felt as if it were humming. Looking back up at him, she felt more able to speak. "Thank you, Dr. Booth."

He seemed to be having trouble returning her smile. "Well." He stood suddenly. "I think Dr. Booth needs a bath after all his strenuous activity today." He took a step back. "Will you be okay out here?"

"I think I've got everything I need," she said softly, watching his retreat. Had she done something to make him nervous?

"Okay." Grabbing his bag, he made towards the bathroom. Before closing the door, he turned. "Feel better, Temperance."

She watched the door for a little while after it shut, then sighed and settled back into the pillows he had arranged for her, letting the heat from the fire warm her toes and her feet and her ankles. The ankle that had so recently been the recipient of one of the most tender kisses that had been bestowed upon her in her life.

Maybe they shouldn't have had that scotch. It was becoming hard enough to think clearly about everything that was happening in this cabin on this day.

* * *

**5:22 pm**

He filled his lungs completely, holding the air in for a moment before letting out a slow, steady breath. His back was against the now closed door of the bathroom, and finally having regained his wits, he pushed off and headed towards the old, clawfoot tub.

Taking a peek, he was surprised at how clean it looked. Someone must have been here fairly recently. Turning the old spigot to the left, he prayed for hot water, and finally, after a good two or three minutes, the water started to warm until it was steaming. He ran a hand around quickly, rinsing the sides, and when he was satisfied it was clean, he turned the water back on and dropped in the stopper.

Truth was, he was sore from carrying her all the way back to the cabin, and his muscles were already anticipating the warm water. Stripping out of his sweats quickly, he hung them on the hook on the back of the door and grabbed his towel. The water had actually grown quite hot, and he hissed when he slipped a foot in the tub, his skin immediately turning pink. Still, once he was settled, his shoulders resting against the back rim of the tub and his feet against the other, he allowed himself another deep breath.

Part of him was as stressed now as he'd been in the car this morning. In some ways, he realized, it was nearly as nerve-wracking to get along with her as it was to be nose to nose in an argument. Because in both extremes, he felt the threat of losing control. He'd already proved unable to keep himself in check the night things had gotten out of hand in her apartment. She had the remnants of a bruise on her neck to prove it. She'd pushed just so, pricked his temper in only the way she was capable, but he knew that a piece of him had just been waiting for that push. Three years, and it was the first time he'd cracked.

Picking up a bar of soap, he lathered it between his hands, and then over his forearms. Today was different, but the result was still the same - he'd been unable to control his reaction to her. And this time, rather than fury igniting the spark, it had been her smile. It had been the walk in the sun with her, had been the feel of her body pressed against his while he'd carried her home. And finally, it had been the afternoon games, the low and steady cadence of her voice, the flickering lights in her eyes, the steady drum of the rain. And he hadn't been able to keep from kissing the tender skin of her swollen ankle. _A kiss to make it all better,_ his mother had always said. He remembered her dropping quick, sweet kisses to a bruised knee or a scraped elbow. As silly as it sounded, it had always taken the sting away.

But it had been her eyes that had caused his swift retreat to the bath. It had been the slight parting of her lips as she'd gazed at him, and he'd realized in that moment, just by looking at her, that it had been years, almost forever since anyone had touched her like that; taken care of her.

He wanted to be that person for her - she _deserved_ that kind of tenderness and care. And no matter how "compartmentalized" and "self-sufficient" she claimed to be, in that moment, he had known better. Because everyone needed to feel that someone would take care of them, would come to their rescue. Since the tender age of fifteen, Temperance Brennan had tried to fill that role all by herself _for_ herself. It wasn't fair.

And he'd tried so hard to do that for her, to _be_ that person for her. In the years of knowing her, of being her partner and friend, he'd never seen a shortness of lovers. Her "urges", as she put it, were satisfied when it was necessary. And he hated to think of it in those terms. Sex could just be sex, sure. But it could also be one of the most intense, intimate experiences one could have with someone else - he wasn't sure she knew that. As frustrated and hot her statement in Sweets' office had made him, it also hadn't surprised him. If the men she slept with were merely people she saw as providers of some sort of... service, how could she possibly let go enough to experience what it could really be like?

And he'd yet to see any of those men take care of her, to look out for her in the way that really mattered. And it wasn't about her being a woman and the fact that he was a man. She looked out for him, had his back. He'd grown to depend on that trust, that knowledge that if he was in trouble, someone would notice he was missing - his partner would come looking.

But it was all starting to fall apart - all because he couldn't keep his feelings and his attraction to her tightly in check. Over the years, there had been times he'd been tempted to slip, had imagined what would happen if he took that step forward, if he kissed her. Sure, he fantasized. She was beautiful, and he was a man with two eyes and half a brain. But these specific day dreams, the ones he'd been having continually the last few weeks - he was smart enough to know the difference.

They weren't just about sex.

He had finished his bathing, and the water had grown cold. Lifting the stopper with his toes, he sat for a moment while the water drained loudly into the old pipes. He'd clean out the tub for her, run her new hot water and let her relax. The warm water would probably feel good on her bruised ankle.

Pushing himself to his feet, he wrapped a towel around his waist and rinsed out the tub, turning the water back on, the steam once again filling the room. Slipping back into his sweats, he opened the door cautiously, trying to be quiet, and when he peeked in the living area, she was curled up in front of the fire, her dark lashes against her cheeks.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her asleep, her skin flushed from the warmth of the fire, her hair curling over her shoulder and across her cheek. At least, he assumed she was asleep. Because after only a moment or two, her eyes opened and burned into his, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

* * *

**6:01 p.m.**

He had drawn a bath for her. A fucking _bath._

The same man to and for whom she had professed her hatred just mere hours before.

Her I.Q. was in the 99th percentile, and she still could not wrap her mind around the nature of her relationship with him, couldn't quite come to any satisfying resolution about what she felt for him. Sometimes, she felt like she had got it... her partner, who received the brunt of her caring, her admiration, her respect, and her frustration. It made sense to her.

Then were the other times, like when she opened her eyes from their rest in front of the fire, and saw him standing in the entryway, his still-damp chest glistening in the glow of the embers and his eyes shining as he fixed upon her the gaze that, as far as she could tell, he reserved only for her. Those times, when it felt like her heart had literally stopped beating (impossible) and her lungs stopped functioning (equally unlikely), she could not tell what she felt anymore.

Except that it felt to be almost too much to bear.

It had taken some time to maneuver her way into the tub. The buoyancy of the hot water had helped, and she had needed to put nearly all her weight into her arms to hold herself on the bathtub's edge to lower herself inside without putting pressure on her injured foot. Booth had told her to call if she needed help, but she was determined _not _to need any more help today. Once she had settled, though... heaven. Figuring she wasn't in a hurry for anything anyway, she postponed her washing, allowing herself the luxury of just lying back in the water and letting the heat work its magic.

It occurred to her that the piece of furniture on which Booth had intended sleeping was soaked through, having been unfortunately positioned directly under the leaky roof. Her entomologist colleague might have developed a theory that nature was conspiring against them. She smiled at the thought of her friend's eccentricities. It had taken some time for her to adjust, but now, she couldn't imagine Hodgins any other way.

Briefly, she wondered what Angela and Jack were doing on this day and night. Were they talking, revealing themselves to one another, getting to know one another again, like she and Booth were? Were they pacing themselves, taking things slow, taking care to avoid missteps, or were they falling into their old ways of being, instinctively remembering what felt good and right? Were they arguing? Were they making love again? It was out of her hands, now. If it had ever been in her hands to begin with.

Now, all that energy she had put into her friends' marriage was directed towards herself. And, on this day, towards Booth. Feeling uncomfortable contemplating that, she began washing herself, her soapy hands gliding over her smooth skin. It had been a long time since she took a real, honest-to-goodness bath, and she had forgotten how relaxing it could be.

She was almost disappointed when she was done washing her hair and her body, and the water started to cool. Sighing regretfully, she leaned forward and pulled the plug, allowing her skin to cool as the water level dropped from her shoulders, down to her elbows, past her hips, and finally disappeared down the drain.

Big mistake.

She had underestimated how much the water's buoyancy had helped her keep her weight off her hurt foot. When she attempted to stand one-legged, she fell the first time, back onto her bottom. "Shit," she cursed, as softly as she could. If Booth heard her yelling, he'd be bursting in there in a heartbeat. Clasping tightly to the sides of the tub, she used her arm muscles to lift herself onto her good foot. Mission accomplished.

She was self-satisfied until she realized the next task was even more impossible. The sides of the tub were high. She'd have to stand on her injured foot to climb out, one way or the other.

Again, she cursed. Tentatively, she tried to put weight on the bruised ankle, and immediately bit back a yowl.

Leaning on the side of the tub with her hands, she contemplated her options. She could try hopping out on her one foot. With her luck today, she'd probably fall and break the other one.

That was it. Her only option. Oh God.

Sucking up all her pride and everything in her that screamed she should be able to do this herself, she took in a shaky breath before she called out.

"Booth!"

* * *

Honestly, despite the fact that he'd offered, when he heard her calling for him hesitantly through the bathroom door, his stomach flipped.

Standing up slowly from where he was sprawled in front of the fire, he paused at the closed door. "Bones?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I may need your help," she said, her voice small.

_Oh, god._

She kept speaking. "I... I stood up on my own but... I don't think I can step over the rim of the tub on one foot."

Taking a deep breath, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. "Okay," he said quietly, trying to sound casual. "Can you... can you reach the towel?"

Again there was a pause. "No. It's on the back of the door where you left it."

_Right. Okay. Absolutely no need to panic. Bones is just naked._

"I'm going to turn my head and hand it to you, okay?"

"Okay."

Slowly, he pushed the door open, trying to avert his eyes. He saw a slight blur of skin, and he quickly turned around, grabbing the towel and holding it out to her. Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him, and his chest hitched a bit with an unsteady breath. He started counting silently in his head, and before he reached ten, she gave him the okay.

He turned slowly, his eyes falling on her damp shoulders, her hair slicked to her throat. She looked equally nervous, and he stepped towards her slowly, his tongue sneaking out to sweep over his lower lip anxiously.

"Okay," he said quietly. He dipped down and slipped one hand behind her knees, the other coming around her back as she looped her arms around his neck. Lifting her gently, he tucked her against his chest, the towel that was clasped at her breasts coming instantly unfastened. Flushing, he averted his eyes while she quickly moved to try and cover herself, but with one arm looped around her neck, she wasn't very successful.

The backs of her thighs were warm against his forearm, and she let her head drop against his shoulder as he made his way out of the bathroom. "I feel like you've been carrying me all day," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"You're injured," he managed, his heart beating more rapidly at her nearness and half-nudity. "It's okay to need help sometimes, Bones."

"I know," she whispered, her head tilting slightly, her nose pressing against his bare shoulder.

She smelled of soap and woman; beads of water still present on her shoulders and chest, dampening his arms under her legs. He wanted to capture them with his tongue, to press his mouth to her skin, and he took another deep breath. She was going to think he was having a heart attack if he wasn't careful.

He was about to turn to the bedroom when she shivered. "Do you want me to put you by the fire? I'll go get your clothes. Might be warmer than the bedroom."

She nodded, her face still pressed against him. He wasn't sure if she was drowsy, shy or just quiet, but he made his way back to the pile of blankets. And it was at that moment, as he bent down, kneeling to set her gently in the cocoon of quilts and pillows when she finally raised her head, their eyes meeting, and what he saw stunned him.

All the anger, all the fury and the resentment and the frustration that had been between them the last few days had evaporated, and what he saw was just... Temperance. And her eyes were full of trust, and the openness, the willingness and vulnerability he saw was breathtaking. Her lips parted, shining damply from the firelight, and he wanted so badly to kiss her, to press his mouth against hers.

But the other night... it had ended so badly. It had driven such a wedge between them, and he couldn't afford to make that mistake with her again. He felt as if he'd spent the last few days scrambling to hold onto her, to keep the partner he'd finally reached, grown to need, to stay with him, to not retreat back into her self.

He slid his hand from beneath her legs gently, his arms bracing himself above her, but she made no move to remove her arms from where they were locked around his neck. He wanted so badly to believe he wasn't wrong, but his fear was paralyzing him.

"Bones," he rasped. "I just... I feel a little..." He sucked in a breath. "Do you -"

But she came to his rescue, just like she so often had in the past, and before he could think, before he could take another shaky breath, she was kissing him.

It was nothing like the wild, aggressive collision that had occurred in her living room only a few nights before. She tilted her head, her lips parting gently against his, and his eyes fell shut in surprise, his own mouth opening to the simple brush of her lips.

His heart seemed to stall in his chest, hanging for a second with no breath, no blood to power his body, and then it all returned in a rush and one hand came up, fingers sliding into her wet hair as he returned her kiss. The hesitance that had lingered in the first few moments dissipated, and as she caught his upper lip between her own, he tilted his head, deepening their contact.

His tongue slid against the ridge of her lower lip and her fingers curled into his hair, tugging him to her, and he followed her down to the nest of pillows, sinking into the warmth and taste of her. She shivered, but he knew now that it wasn't from the cold but from the heat of him against her, and at the velvet touch of her tongue inside his mouth, he finally moaned.

She cuddled him between her hips, one knee coming up to press against his waist, and the towel between them had again come untucked, leaving the tops of her breasts pressed against his bare skin. He was trembling, overwhelmed with sensation and only able to simply feel. Every cell in his body was reaching for her, responding to her, and when he finally pulled back to suck in a much needed breath, she protested slightly, following him, arching her back.

His eyes fluttered open, and hers were blazing, and he was once again drowning in that cerulean blue.


	15. Chapter 14

_**A/N: so, we get the feeling y'all might be a little anxious for this next part. you thought we were going to leave you hanging, didn't you? what do you guys think we ARE, anyway? EVIL? that's not very nice. **_

_**also... this stuff takes a lot out of us, people. is exhausting! we need extensive support before we're able to continue. :)**_

_**p.s. (from mia) this is to all you guys who wanted jamie to continue to dope me up with copious amounts of painkillers... mean! heeeys! do you want me to have permanent brain damage? (and just so y'all know.. this chapter and what follows? i DAREd to be drug-free. ;) ) xoxo **_

* * *

**7:12 p.m.**

The classically-conditioned part of her cried out a protest, remembered what happened the last time she had kissed him... the humiliation of him backing away from her, muttering apologies, regretting having been close to her like that. It was one of the most upsetting moments in her life, she REMEMBERED that, but she still felt physically unable to disengage her embrace from around his neck when he lowered her. Felt unable to turn her face from his as he gazed down on her with an expression of uncertainly and longing. And when he spoke..._"Do you..." _her mind filled in the rest. _"Do you want this?"_

And no matter how much of her feared the consequences of the revelation, she could not lie, to him, or to herself. Lifting her head up to kiss him was the last conscious choice she made for several minutes. Once their lips were touching, all the rest melted together. Her crashing heart, his fingers sliding through her hair, the disparate sensations of the towel against her versus his skin, and his mouth... oh God, his _mouth, _tasting even better than she remembered, tasting somehow like the very fire that glowed before them... it was all one feeling.

When he pulled away from her, a near-panic flowed through her veins. Her eyes opened. "Please..." she whispered_. Please don't apologize... please don't leave... please don't stop_... Her fears were proved unfounded when he returned to her after one gasping breath, plunging back into her mouth like if he kissed her deep enough, he'd find the answers to life itself. Hands flying to his back, her fingers convulsively kneaded the muscles there, taking in the strength of him.

He was mumbling against her mouth, and somehow she was still able to understand the words. "God... I've been wanting this... so damn much." She had an urge to scream at him, ask him why if he wanted it so badly, why he _stopped _before, left her desperate and wanting and alone. And then, an epiphany hit her, one so simple and pure that she couldn't believe it had not occurred to her before.

There had been no break in her anger. Between their arguments, even their kisses had been angry, aggressive. She had told him she wanted him to lose control... but not that she wanted _him. _She assumed he had stopped because he didn't want her, decided it was a mistake, and had not considered he stopped because he cared about her, wanted to make sure... and that his caring had been _greater_ than his lust for her. It had never crossed her mind.

She dragged her mouth from his, brought it beside his ear while he sucked, gently this time, at her throat. "I want it too, Booth. I want _you." _And it was true. Every tiny part of her body seemed desperate for him, wanting his attentions _right now. _And every part of her mind was saying his name.

He groaned at her words, pressed against her, and the towel that had been clinging so tenuously to her chest was working itself downwards, barely covering her breasts anymore. She could see his struggle, the way his eyes fell from hers, to her lips, to the tops of her breasts and back between kisses. Trying to read what she wanted, trying to make sure.

"I want you to see me," she said softly, breathlessly. She had never felt more open before, more exposed, and somehow instead of being frightened, she was luxuriating in it. Sensate focus. Focus on the feeling. As he tugged at the towel and it fell open, revealing her to him, all she felt was adored.

* * *

Somehow, despite the rushing between his ears, despite the constant ringing of every nerve ending, he heard her hushed and breathless words. _I want you to see me. _His whole body clutched, his chest tightening, his eyes watering - not from tears but from simply being completely and thoroughly overwhelmed by sensation. _Focus on the feeling._

Her eyes were deep pools of blue, her lips swollen from his kisses. A faint, damp halo shone against her throat, his mouth leaving its own fingerprint, gentle this time. Swallowing, his eyes locking with hers, he reached up slowly between them, tugging the bath towel from her body. As each inch was revealed, he finally allowed his eyes to sweep over the soft slopes of her breasts without guilt, to take in the sweet flaring of her hips and the slender lines of her waist.

He cupped her cheek, his thumb sweeping over he lower lip, and she started to shudder. Dropping a tender kiss on the tip of her nose, on her eyelid as it fluttered closed, on the corner of her mouth. And then he waited, waited for her again to raise her lashes and meet his eyes. And when she did, her breasts rising and falling beautifully with each breath, he brushed his lips over hers softly. "_Temperance_," he whispered hoarsely. "_You are so incredibly precious to me..._"

She started to quake, her lips parting, and he felt his own body quiver in response. He felt both weak and strong as he lowered his head, his mouth open and hot against the valley between her breasts.

"Oh _god_, Booth," he heard her gasp, and he felt her knees coming up to press tightly against his hips, the sensation of her hands flying into his hair.

There were few words to describe how he was feeling as he let his mouth roam over the undersides of her breasts, as he nuzzled the delicate crease between her ribs and her shoulder. Her skin was luminous in the firelight, her nipples pearling as he lifted her arm, pressing a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. He wanted her to know, wanted to find a way to _show_ her, even if the words caught in his throat. He wanted her to see what the last three years of life with her had really meant to him... and how, even before tonight, they had belonged to one another.

Her hands slid down to his shoulders, kneading and clinging, and she was arching her back, and he could hear, even in the swirl of everything, her begging him to return his lips to her bare skin. His tongue flickered over the taut peak of her nipple, just teasing, like the flutter of a hummingbird's wing, and she bucked her hips against him, crying out. A spark of electricity shot through his whole body at her reaction, and he suddenly fastened his mouth to the tip of her breast, rolling his tongue against it before suckling deeply. She was breathless, her fingers again sliding up to fist into his hair, tugging urgently. He moved to her other nipple, this time lapping at it with his tongue before blowing softly, watching the creamy quiver of her breasts as she shivered.

He returned to her mouth for a fierce, tongue-thrusting kiss, tracing the lining of her cheek, sliding along the pearl of her teeth, his body settling against the bare skin of her breasts and the flat of her stomach. She tasted rich, full of history, like something his body had always known deep down, a combination of the burn of scotch and the sweetness of woman. This time it was her who pulled away, dropping her mouth desperately to the cords of his throat, and when she made her way to his ear, she said his name, his _first name_ like he didn't know it could ever be spoken.

Quaking, he wrapped an arm tightly around her, sliding his palm against her lower back, and he lifted her to his urgent mouth as he made his way down the slope of her body.

* * *

His words were almost unbearably sweet to her ears, his kisses alternately tender and hot against her bare skin. Nobody had ever said her name like he was saying it, nobody ever _looked _at her the way he was staring at her body now, like he was about to paint the canvas of her body with his eyes. As he pressed his lips from her breasts, to her stomach, and lower, a thought managed its way into her lust-filled mind. _He knew her secret now. _It was enough to make her feel just a little self-conscious.

"Booth..." She jumped as he sucked gently near her hip bone, tickling her. Her legs spread a little, instinctively, and her hand fell to his head.

"Hmmm." He was nuzzling her pelvis, making the heat running through her concentrate there.

"I don't want you to feel like..." A gasp escaped her as he nipped lightly at the flesh of her thigh. "I don't want there to be..." He was humming softly against her in his own pleasure. "No pressure," she finished weakly, her head falling back on the pillows.

Finally, he looked up from the place he had settled between her legs. "Pressure?" he asked softly. "I think you're assuming..." he pressed a kiss right above the short curls between her legs..."that I'm doing this for you. When in reality, I'm doing this because I've been fantasizing about it for years, dreaming every night about how you'd feel and taste against my tongue." Another kiss, a little lower, and she moaned helplessly, arching towards him. "So... you just wait for me, Temperance. You let me do what I've been dying to do, and I promise we'll get to everything else. Just... indulge me."

Shuddering, she opened herself up to him. She couldn't have denied him anything right then, and a person as brilliant as she certainly wasn't going to be the one to try to stop Seeley Booth on a mission. She anticipated his kiss in the one place that was throbbing with need for him...

But he surprised her. It should not have surprised her; he had just told her, it was about the process, not about the goal-about giving and taking pleasure with her, not about giving her a hard and fast climax against his busy mouth. But still, when his mouth fell, not to her sex, but her quivering inner thighs, and stayed there for the longest moments, kissing and sucking and licking, part of her was perplexed and not just a little thrilled.

She hissed his name as he ministered to her, as he trailed his hot tongue up and down the inside of her leg, so close... and then backing away, swirling patterns as he went, before moving to the other leg, working his way back upwards, again, making her arch her hips in want before he repeated those strokes. Something in her mind recognized that the movements of his tongue were not random, the loops and trails felt familiar to her, and she fought to identify it with a mind that was now only working on instinct, on feeling alone. _Sensate focus._

He gave her time to figure it all out, in no hurry, and it came to her in a rush, flooding her mind in recognition and her center in its own wetness. _His name. He was tracing his name onto her, marking her invisibly with his mouth. _If she had not abandoned her self-consciousness around the same time she had kissed him, she might have been embarrassed by her body's instantaneous response to being marked by him.

"Booth, _please," _she choked out, suddenly desperate. "Taste me. Please." She was nearly begging, and she didn't care, because when she looked down at him, his body strong and his gaze tender between her legs, she felt like she never needed anyone or anything so badly in her life. He smiled up at her, and she felt dizzy.

His lips, finally brushing gently against the core of her, felt hotter than the flames that were illuminating the light sheen of perspiration on his muscular back, and she jerked and moaned, nearly unable to believe that this was him. Her partner. And he literally was _tasting _her, not performing on her, was backing off just a little to touch his tongue to the lips that were damp with her wetness, shuddering as if he had just taken a hit of a particularly potent drug.

"It's better," he whispered, his eyes shining. "Better than I dreamed..."

Moaning, her fingers clasped in his hair, she urged him back to her, and he was kissing every part of her, tickling her, massaging her, finding a million and one ways to make her feel amazing before his tongue even began flirting with her clit, flicking out to touch it quickly before moving back to the rest of her, taking a journey before finding his way back and flicking it again. Each time made her almost rise off the floor, pushing with her good leg while the other rested at the middle of his back.

It felt like hours later when she finally gave in to a growing sense of urgency, her supplications growing in volume and intensity. She knew he had said this part was about him, his fantasies, his desires, and she was just along for the ride. But unbelievably, she literally felt as if she might explode in frustrated pleasure, should he not give her the concentrated attention at the spot that was aching for him. She almost cried when he gave into her, laving at her clit slowly, then kissing it quickly, his tongue fluttering on her faster than her frantic heart was beating. He teased her this way, and her body responded, thrilling at each attention.

She recognized this building, this tension inside of her. Part of her always knew that he would be the one who could make this happen for her, the one she would be able to let go with, open up and accept all the pleasure he wanted... seemed to _need..._ to give to her. Her panting breaths increased, and she was crying out steadily, wanting him, needing him so badly...

And then... _he stopped_. She could not comprehend it, how he or life itself could be so cruel to her, it was just too unbelievably unfair for words. _"Seeley..._ why... oh God, please..."

He was kissing his way back up her body, whispering soothing words, and she had to fight the urge not to pull his hair out and scream.

"Why... don't you... don't you want to be the first?" she asked him weakly, her legs still trembling.

Reaching her mouth, he kissed her deeply. "I do. And I will be."

She shuddered at his promise.

Then he was cupping her face and looking at her, looking _into _her, his body pressed hard against her needy one. "Your eyes," he rasped. "When you're working, they're cobalt. When you're angry, they're navy. When you laugh... it's sky blue." Dipping his head, he pressed gentle kisses all over her face before returning for a last, sweet, shaking touch to her lips. He whispered. _"I need to see what color they are while you come."_

She cried out, and there was nothing left to do except focus on every feeling.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: Jeeshus peeshus, kids. You really think we're that mean? We thought we were being sweeties! Maybe you were _requesting _meanness? Maybe you are kinda masochistic and like that stuff? Because we _can _be mean...**

**Psych! We love you, dudes. Keep talking to us, ks? And do us a favor...we know that there are only so many ways to write da smut, and we endeavor to think outside the box (hee...box...), so if you find anything particularly hott, let us know! Is good feedback for us to have, so we know what's working, what's new, and what we might want to do again.**

**Much loves. Hope to hear from you!**

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**8:05 pm**

He saw her eyes widen at his promise, saw the way she shuddered, and his own body responded at the sound of her cry as he explained his reasons. He'd been waiting, wondering, _dreaming_ for years of the exact look on her face, of the exact shade her eyes would become as she fell with him into oblivion. And now, despite the desperate humming of his own nerve-endings, of the protests between his body and his heart, he realized he didn't want the possibility of his own orgasm to interrupt even a second of watching her come apart for him the first time.

He pressed against her, the heat between her thighs radiating through the thin fabric of his pants. The rain was pounding the roof of the small cabin more steadily now, the sound adding to the symphony of her breathless words and moans. She rocked her hips, the ridge of her pelvis pressing against him, and he was unable to bite back a groan, his mouth seeking hers again desperately. Her hair, from the heat of the fire, had dried into curls, and was tangled in his hands as he swept his tongue into her mouth. Her hands, slipping from where they'd been digging into his shoulders, slipped to his ass, tugging him tighter against her and he ripped his mouth from hers to growl low in his chest, dropping his head to her shoulder, nipping with his teeth.

Nearly every part of him was begging for him to bury himself deeply within her, to stroke until he was seeing stars, and it was only the small voice inside him that wanted no sensation to be missed that made him snatch her left hand from where it was traveling to the front of his pants, pinning it above her head. She opened her mouth, words tumbling out, breathless sounds that told him how badly _she_ wanted to touch him, and he sucked in a deep breath, begging his own body to behave, to not lose all sense of self-control.

The arm that held hers captive supported his weight above her on his elbow, and he found her other fingers curling against his hip. Trapping them in his own, he dragged them both to the heat between her legs, his throat dry again at the swollen wetness there. Her eyes were wide, and she let out a choking sob, pleading with him. Gathering her fingers in his, he suddenly sank two of her own and one of his inside her and she arched her back, her throat stretching as she cried out.

His own body was screaming as he felt the hot, slick crush of her. Holding her hand in his, burying their fingers inside her, he led her as they both stroked. They were both damp, their skin holding a sheen as she twisted her hips and rode their hands. She was still chanting his name, her hips tilting, her cheeks pink and her eyelids heavy. He released the hand trapping her left one above them suddenly, moving to cup her head in his palm.

"_Temperance,"_ he pleaded. _"Please look at me."_

Her eyelashes fluttered, quivering above her cheeks, and finally she met his eyes just as his thumb swept between her legs to press against her clit. She jerked in his arms; her lips, as they parted, mimicked the bowstring quivering of her hips, and a hot peach flush swept across her face. Her body clenched around both their fingers, her nipples tightening, and her eyes...

Her eyes shone brightly, widely, and he realized there might be no word in the human language to describe the color he saw. Or, if so, he would have to claim it. _Temperance blue. _She went limp in his arms, spent from her release, and he held her as spasms still rocked her body. He nearly felt that he'd fallen over the edge with her - his breath was just as labored, his skin as warm. Her eyes had fallen closed briefly, and when she finally opened them again, she did something he didn't expect in that moment.

_She smiled._

Beautifully, lazily she smiled, and for some reason that smile set him on fire. He crashed his lips on to hers, opening his mouth, drinking her in, and together they hauled his pants down and over his hips. He was harder than he'd ever been as a younger man, so hard he thought he might shatter, and when her fingers, still slick from inside herself, wrapped around him he bucked forward, nearly losing his balance.

His mouth had slipped from hers in the process, and he again heard his name on her lips, begging. _Seeley, please..._

_Come to me._

She swept a thumb over the head of him, slick with wanting, and he cried out hoarsely, her own name escaping him. They were now a sweaty tangle of limbs with two racing hearts at the center, and as she lifted her hips in offering, she again lifted her eyelids, and he didn't even have to ask, to make sure she was still with him. They answered all questions.

And so, as he sank into her body, he let himself drown in her eyes. He was so overcome with sensation that every hair on his body was tingling, every muscle vibrating, every _damn cell_ aware of the fact that he was here, making love to Temperance Brennan.

* * *

It was all going too slow, and too fast, and at the perfect pace, and it occurred to her that there was nothing that could have prepared her for this, this moment that she both never and always knew was coming. Once, Booth had told her about the differences between the knowledge of her head and heart, and the concept had confused her. No more. Part of her cursed their heads, which had kept them from this for so long. But another part soothed her, was grateful, because it had made sure that when their hearts finally came together, it was...

_Just like this. _

She was overwhelmed. The heat in his eyes, the slickness of his body against hers, the firmness of his fingers gripping at her, and the unbelievable _rightness _of his entry inside her...it was too much to bear. Her body, so recently satiated by the touch of him, was suddenly _right there _again. She whimpered, her damp hair tossing as the spasms hit her once more, impossibly even stronger than before; her hips thrust convulsively, and he had to hold her face to keep her looking at him, keep from being completely overcome by the sensations and losing focus of this perfect moment.

He stroked the hair at her temples back and she gasped her way back down from her climax, a desperate look in his eyes. "Temperance Brennan," he finally spoke, hoarsely, eyes filled with wonder. "How the _hell _do you expect me to control myself when you do things like _that?"_

"I didn't mean to," she breathed, although not in apology, her thighs finally releasing their death lock around his hips. She was being truthful; the orgasm had taken her by surprise, much like he had the first time he had kissed her. Or the first time he had come into her life, shaking up her world, making her question things that she always just took for granted. Perhaps she should be embarrassed that he had made her come with barely one thrust. But as it was, it just made her hotter, want more, want to give _him _more.

"And somehow, that's even fucking sexier," he said, between gritted teeth. "_God, _you're tight." Dropping his head to her shoulder, he breathed laboriously, as if running a marathon.

It was astounding to her, how intense were his reactions to her body. "Hey," she whispered. "How about..." She twisted her hips slightly, urging him to roll over while they stayed joined. He seemed reluctant for a moment, then gave into her, moving to his back, her helping the movement with her hands. She gasped slightly, feeling him shift to a different position inside of her. "...You indulge _me _for awhile."

Raising up on her knees, palm against his hard chest, she experimentally raised and lowered her hips, letting him nearly slip from her body before returning to cradle him inside of her once more. The view was good from where she was, each smooth ridge of his body, each rippling muscle displayed for her approving gaze. But somehow, now, the thing she couldn't get enough of was his face, his adoring eyes. They seemed in constant motion, from her face, to her shoulders and breasts, to her belly and the place they were joined, and slowly back up again, as if every part of her was as important as any other.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked him, voice trembling, as she began to rock against him slowly.

His traveling eyes locked on hers, his hands sliding up her sweat-slicked body to cup her breasts, roll her nipples with his thumbs. "You know."

She moaned low in her throat, squeezed him tightly inside of her, watched in satisfaction as his face began to show evidence of his struggle to stay with her, each step of the way. If he only knew how close she was..."I know." When the words formed in her mind, they sounded like a question, but somewhere on the way out of her lips they became a statement, a fact. Suddenly, she was unable to tolerate any part of them being separate any longer, and she lowered her chest to his, kissing him frantically while her hips increased their pace against him.

His groan rumbled in his chest, and his arousal excited her, thrilled her beyond her own pleasure, and she allowed herself to be part of what he was experiencing right now. Reaching back behind her to the place they were connected, she went a little lower and stroked his balls, heightening his sensation and making him jerk a little inside her. "Fu-... Tem-... I can't ... I'm gonna..."

"Shh," she whispered, her own composure shaken and her body ascending _again, _so easily with him, and the rhythm she had set breaking up now. "It's time for you to lose control." She needed to see him like he had seen her. Completely open. Completely feeling. Completely _his._

_

* * *

_

It was like tumbling eyes open, even while they actually remained clenched tightly shut in that moment. He could hear her calling his name, and his head fell back as a guttural cry ripped from his throat. It had been more than a sexual release that finally brought such powerful sensations raining down on him in that moment, and he was shaken.

The tremors continued, and he felt her body collapse against his, his arms instinctively coming around her. The slickness of her skin clung to his, and he sucked in deep breaths, her knees pressing against the sides of his hips as she curled in a tangle of hair and limbs on his chest.

"_Good god,"_ he gasped. The rain continued to pelt the roof and windows, and with the fire still crackling and flaming bedside them, he wondered briefly if they were suddenly the only two left in the world.

And then she opened her mouth against his skin, pressing a kiss to the skin of his throat, and the sensations all came sweeping back in a wave.

He was still hard. Amazingly, unbelievably so, he was still hard and inside of her, and with each breath, he found his strength returning. Never, in all the years of being with women, had he had an orgasm even close to that magnitude and been little more than an empty husk for at least twenty minutes. Everything was different when it came to her.

He cupped her face, tugging it to his, kissing her deeply. He didn't want it to be over_._She moaned at the stroke of his tongue, and that sound from her set his whole body ringing. His hands slid down to cup her ass, tugging her against him, and she gasped against his mouth. _Oh, yeah. They weren't anywhere near done._

He rolled hard, sweeping her beneath him, one arm looping around her thigh, pressing her open, and her eyes widened as her fingers clutched for him, one hand winding around the bicep that supported him over her. He pulled his hips back slowly, then thrust hard, and she arched her back. The build was back again, he could see it on her face, and as he continued his slow rhythm, her head started to toss from side to side, her hair clinging to her damp cheeks. "Oh, god_... Seeley."_

Something about the way she said his name set him on fire. Maybe because she'd never said it until this night; never used it out of this context, these few intimate moments.

"_Say it again_," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Say my name again..."

It left her lips again and again, faster and faster, and he picked up the pace to match her chanting. Everything felt hot and tight and ready to explode. He focused on her face, her eyes glassy with desire, so close to her own orgasm that she was half-lost. "_Baby," _he rasped, the word slipping from his lips without thought. "_Come with me. Come again."_

"_Ohhh.._."she choked out, scrambling to get her arms around his neck, as if she were literally falling. "Oh, _god."  
_  
And there they were, together, a tangle of limbs and open, gasping mouths, tumbling over the cliff they'd created and then climbed with one another for so many years. His balls tightened, his heart beat like a rapid drum, his head tucked to the damp skin at her neck, and he was free-falling.


	17. Chapter 16

_**A/N: hello, lovelies. have you all recovered your powers of speech? smoked a pack of cigarettes? (unhealthy, by the ways... naughty.) because we're BAAACK. glad you all enjoyed the smut - at least, we think you did. most of you couldn't say much. ;)**_

_**and, we have a little pop quiz... can anyone tell how we're writing this together? any ideas? are we each writing separate characters? if so, whom? we're just curious if you guys recognize our styles... **_

_**smooches!**_

* * *

There was a moment, as he rubbed a hand across his eyes in the low light of the living room, when he worried that it had all been a very, very large mistake. What if what had happened couldn't be undone? What if he'd been wrong about what had been really brewing between them?

After all - the anger over the last two weeks had been palpable. And he hadn't been the only one aware of the tension between the two of them. Friends, colleagues - everyone had picked up on it. And there was fire there also, it had been evident since their first meeting. But now, when he finally had a moment to his own thoughts after such an exhausting day, he worried that he'd finally gone and done the one thing that would change everything. That he'd made a mistake of epic proportions.

His father would kill him if those two tore apart his cabin in some sort of battle of the wills.

Sighing, Lance Sweets dropped into an arm chair in his fourth floor condo, fumbling for the remote under a sandwich wrapper, flicking on the television. He could admit that he hadn't exactly thought the whole "sensate focus" thing through one hundred percent. Sure, in theory it sounded like it might work for them. And he had no doubt that, with any _reasonable_ couple, it would be quite effective and he'd be at home patting himself on the back for his creative usage. But this was Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. And while he knew that there was a deep and obvious bond that connected them and made their partnership downright brilliant, (as well as enough sexual tension to solve some sort of energy crisis) they still managed to be an almost constant surprise. And he knew they could either spend the twenty-four hours allotted working out their differences...

...Or they could also attempt to hang one another from his father's prized twenty-point buck mounted over the fireplace.

_"Shit,_" he muttered. _"I am so positively dead."_

There was nothing on television, and he switched over to his xbox, _Halo_ appearing on the screen as he picked up his controller. The more he thought about it, the more he was becoming convinced that they would, if not kill one another, at the very least break something. No doubt Booth would shoot an already dead animal right off the wall. The man had shot a clown on an ice cream truck - it wasn't such a leap to make.

Or...

Furious from a forced twenty-four hours with his maddening partner, Booth would return and shoot _him._

Maybe, instead of working on the stack of termination notes he had piling up on his desk tomorrow, he'd take a little drive. To a remote cabin in the woods.

Just to make sure that both his clients, as well as his father's cabin, were still intact.

* * *

The fire blazed within its brick encasement, creating a soft glow against the features of the two lounging before it. The man looked down at his partner, reaching to caress her cheek softly. "How do you feel?" he asked her softly.

She looked up at him with a contented smile. "Warm." Capturing his hand in hers, she moved them to the spot right under her breasts, snuggling back against his chest a little more tightly.

"Warm is good, right?"

"Warm is very good," she agreed. When he looked down into her eyes, the reflected flames seemed almost an organic part of them, making them sparkle. An intense feeling of gratitude hit him. He hadn't been sure if they'd ever be able to be like this again. Comfortable. Content. Warm.

He took a chance. "So... what's next?"

Angela paused in stroking his hands with her thumbs, and for a second Jack wondered if he had been too presumptuous, thinking she was ready to talk about whatever was going to happen next in the newness that was their marriage. His nervousness ebbed a bit when she sunk down lower, resting her head on his thigh and looking up at him with a smile. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt us to have a plan."

"I know you're not usually a 'plan' kind of woman," he teased her, stroking her hair.

"When the future starts to look good, I don't mind thinking about it so much," she offered.

He liked the sound of that. He wasn't expecting her next suggestion, however.

"I think we should keep going to therapy."

At first he laughed, thinking she was joking. But her smile had disappeared, so his slowly did as well. "Really? I thought we were just going to therapy... you know... for the kids," he said, referring to their brilliant-but-clueless colleagues.

"You can't deny that it's helped us, Jack. Made us think about things in a different way. Made us remember what we are in this for."

He _couldn't _deny that things were better. But it never occurred to him that it was because of the farce that was their "group therapy." He hesitated.

"What?" she asked, tentatively.

"I just... I..." he faltered. The "being open again" thing still felt strange and new, felt like crawling out of a cave after a long hibernation. He felt disconcerted, a little lost. But in front of him was the love of his life, and he _owed _her to come around fast. "Things are going well, Angie. I'm half-terrified that any step we take will be a misstep. That the past few days of feeling _real _again will just turn out to be a fantasy. If I felt us losing each other again... I just wish..." He didn't know what he was trying to say, and it was frustrating him.

"What do you wish?" she urged.

He looked down at her, all big brown eyes and soft dark curls. "I wish there were some kind of promise that whatever we do is the right thing."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. Finally, she stood without speaking, and left the room.

_What_? What had he said? This is what he got for being honest. This is what he got for talking about his feelings... without even realizing he _must _have said the wrong thing. He berated himself internally. Maybe he _did _need a therapist there, just to keep him from being a stupid _idiot..._

Then she was back beside him, kneeling there, and holding out to him a sheaf of papers which he took hesitantly.

"I can't promise that everything will perfect, Jack. I can't promise that it won't be hard, or frustrating, or downright infuriating sometimes. I can't promise a happy ending."

He looked down at the divorce papers that he had drawn up for her. For them. So that she could have the kind of life she wanted.

"But I can promise to try my _damndest _to make this work. Because I love you and I want to be with you." Her eyes glistened, and for a second the only sound was the crackling of the fire. "Can you promise the same thing?"

Gazing at his wife... the person whom he had pledged his life to, who had experienced him at his best and worst... it suddenly became clear that there was only one answer.

Easing forward with trembling hands, the edge of the papers curled and ashed over, slowly, at first, before the flames began engulfing them more quickly, hungrily. The snapping of the fire seemed to grow more intense, and before his fingers could be singed, he tossed the lot of the papers on top of everything else that was feeding the fire. They watched together as they turned gray, and snowflakes of ash floated gently from fireplace. When all the dust had settled, he turned towards her, a hopeful smile touching his face.

"I promise."

* * *

**10:58 p.m.**

When her eyes opened once more, it was almost reluctantly. The rest felt good, and in repose she could feel the energy flowing through her veins once more. She should have been more exhausted... the day had been long, and the effort she had expended great... but the newness of her circumstance had stirred in her some reserve of adrenaline that was currently teasing her awake.

It was darker than before. The fire had died down, just a few flames lazily burning near the back, and some hot embers glowing towards the front. The rain seemed to have stopped from the moment; now she could hear crickets chirping and the occasional cry of an owl. And, the deep, rhythmic sounds of sleep from the man lying next to her.

In his sleep, she was afforded the opportunity to let her eyes roam his body leisurely, and she took that privilege. She smiled as she took in his hair, messier than she had ever seen it..._not so perfect _now_, is it, Agent Booth?..._and the slackness of his jaw, and was reminded that he had an even more exhausting day than she did, having carried her so long and far. His shoulders and chest were strong and smooth, save for the faint traces of a few scars, each which probably told its own story about his life and, in some occasions, near-death. She could pinpoint the exact one that was sustained when he took a bullet so she wouldn't have to, and she shuddered at the memory.

Continuing her journey downwards over his flat stomach, it only surprised her a little that, in sleep, Seeley Booth's modesty seemed to disappear; he didn't bother to cover himself. This _was _the man of the "cocky" belt buckle, she reminded herself. _That _particular part of his anatomy was only slightly less impressive in repose, lying across his thigh. Waiting, too, to be awakened by her. She blushed slightly at the thought. Somehow, even after the intimacy of their activities in the past few hours, looking at him like this when he was unaware seemed somehow particularly personal and private.

Quickly moving onto and down his strong thighs and calves, she was briefly surprised by the unnatural color there at the bottom before she realized it was her own injured ankle, her legs tangled with his. She had nearly forgotten about her injury and her pain. She had been... otherwise occupied.

Sitting up as slowly and carefully as possible so she would not jar him, she disentangled the leg from his and examined the foot closely. It was not as swollen as it had been before, but it was _much _more purple. Very attractive. It looked as if crutches might be in her future once they returned home.

Once they returned home. _There _was a thought. When they returned home, she was going to have to deal with far more changes than her walking ability.

"How does it feel?"

She barely started at the husky voice. She wasn't entirely sure she could be surprised any more than she already was tonight. Her head turned slowly, just a little questioningly.

"Your ankle," he specified. "How does it feel?"

Meeting his coal-dark eyes, she considered her answer. "It feels... very unimportant."

His face reflected understanding, and a mutual sense that everything and nothing was left to say.

* * *

It was difficult to pull his eyes from her as he searched the bedding for his pants. He'd felt cautious upon awakening, unsure what to expect from her, but her simple statement about her ankle had eased the butterflies in his stomach somewhat. He couldn't help but admit to himself that he was scared as hell she was going to backtrack - to make what had just happened between them an anomaly, to rationalize the most intense and intimate experience of his entire adult life.

All he saw in her eyes was reflective silence.

Pulling on his sweats, he stood to throw an extra log on the fire, small sparks and embers hanging in the air for several moments. The fire was still kicking out considerable heat despite the hours of neglect, warding off the slightly damp chill from the rain. He noticed several more spots where the roof was leaking slightly and sighed. Paradise was a little less than perfect.

But then he turned around towards the pile of blankets and saw her eyes still shining. A corner of the quilt was rumpled in her lap, but the rest of her skin was bare and glowing under his appreciative gaze. Her hair was an absolute tangle, and he felt guilty for the way he'd knotted his fingers through it only a few hours earlier. She lifted a long leg delicately, dropping her eyes from his for a moment to again examine her ankle, flexing it experimentally.

"Here, let me get something," he murmured, heading to the bedroom, his bare feet wincing on the cold floor. Digging in his suitcase, he tugged out the extra t-shirt he'd brought with him. When he returned to the fire, he dropped down on his knees in front of her and she watched him with a curious look on her face when he didn't hand her the shirt to wear.

Instead, he grabbed it between two fists and yanked, ripping the cotton clean down the middle making a longer strip. Her eyes widened. "What are you doing? You love that shirt!"

He smiled, seeing the flush on her cheeks from the warmth of the fire. "It's just a t-shirt. Here," he said quietly, lifting her ankle gently onto his thigh. "I'm going to wrap it. Tell me if this is too tight, alright?"

She nodded. "I should have replaced the ace bandage in the kit in your truck."

He pulled the cotton tightly, winding it around her foot and ankle carefully. "Okay?"

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, sneaking a glance at him. "Yes," she said quietly. "Thanks."

Easing her foot back to the blanket, he was about to stand up again to see if there was a pan or bowl to collect some of the water leaking in when she leaned closer, resting a hand on his bicep. He paused, meeting her eyes again, and she tilted her chin towards him, a silent request, and he dipped down and brushed his lips over hers softly.

He had intended it to be a brief kiss, but when she wrapped an arm around his neck, all thoughts of the roof were forgotten. He sank back into the bedding with her, his body resting easily on top of hers as her mouth opened, her tongue flickering against the seam of his lips.

Groaning, he tilted his own head, his eyes falling closed, his hand sliding up the bare skin of her waist to cup a breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple. She sighed against his mouth, sweeping her own hand over the dip in his lower back, pressing with the tips of her fingertips into the muscles.

"What is this?" she murmured against his mouth, her own lips curling into a smile, reducing the tension involved with the question. "What is it we're doing, here...?"

He smiled back, his tongue sweeping in her mouth before answering. "I don't know..." Another kiss, making him slightly breathless. "Do you.." Kiss. "...Want to stop...?" He caught her lower lip between his gently, then kissed her again.

"_No_," she gasped. "No, don't stop..."

* * *

She had always felt strong with Booth before; that was his gift, to help her to feel competent, capable, her own woman, even during the rare occasions where she allowed herself to cry in his arms. But she was quickly finding herself to be practically helpless in the face of his kisses. Right now, she could not really bring herself to care. Her partner was on all fours, hands braced beside her hips as he leaned into her, brushing his lips against her cheekbone.

"Hey, Bones..." he murmured, moving across her temple and down to the shell of her ear, nibbling there gently. She sighed.

"Hey, what?" Her eyes fell closed, and she leaned into his lips.

"Ask me questions and figure out who I am."

He wanted to play this game _now? _She could not imagine that she'd be very good at it, being that she could barely think past the next place she wanted his mouth right now. But she indulged him. "Are you a man or a woman?"

"All man, baby." Raising a hand to cup her cheek, he tilted her head and kissed his way down her throat. Finding his thumb at the corner of her mouth, she darted her tongue out and touched it, feeling satisfied at the groan that left his throat.

"What do you do with most of your time?" she asked weakly.

His hand at her chest, he pressed her back down to the pillows. "I catch bad guys." He was sucking gently at her neck, making her squirm. "And fix up cars. And eat a lot of pie while arguing with my infuriatingly brilliant partner."

She grinned helplessly, which he promptly climbed back up her body and kissed off. "I see," she said, between the increasingly heated pressing of his mouth against hers. "And what's your _favorite _thing to do?" The playful quality in her voice dissolved into a whimper as his fingers trailed their way down her belly, reaching for the place that had begun another slow burn for him while his tongue worked magic against hers.

"I think I just found a new favorite..." he said, huskily, before giving up the pretense of the game and plunging his tongue committedly into her mouth, stroking there as he also cupped her between her legs. She writhed against him hard. Apparently they weren't going to get to the dying fire for awhile...

A foreign sound suddenly made its way to her ears through the increasingly labored sound of their breathing. A scratching sound?

"_Booth_," she gasped. He had heard it as well, his head lifted and his hand stilled on her, creating an infuriatingly hot pressure. "What was that?"

A 'thud' resounded from somewhere outside the cabin, and she jumped, grabbing a blanket and pulling it to her chest while he stood cautiously.

"Is there someone out there?" she whispered, suddenly feeling like some pathetic teenager in some old horror movie. It had been so easy to have it seem as if they were alone in the universe out here, but it was suddenly far too easy to remember their first case out in Washington wilderness, where part of their murdered victim had been found _inside a bear. _It was almost as bad to imagine Sweets' father coming to his cabin to prepare for some early-morning hunting, and finding them here with Booth's hand between her legs.

"Just hold on, Bones," her partner said quietly, stalking towards the door, snagging a poker from beside the fireplace.

"Be careful," she hissed. She had seen Booth take down men larger than himself. But it seemed somehow more unlikely he could accomplish it barefoot and half-naked. The scratching from outside continued. His hand approached the doorknob... hesitated ...then yanked.

She was for a moment startled by the bright reflections that lasered through the open door, and more so by Booth's hiss and half-swing of the poker. "Booth," she half-shrieked. "It's just a..."

The poker took a detour the rest of the way and slammed into the doorjamb, the wood cracking under the impact.

"Raccoon," she winced, as the creature skittered away from the tipped-over trashcan.

Looking perturbed, he walked outside to right the trashcan. When he came back in, he had a slightly embarrassed expression. "How impressed are you that I saved you from that beast?" he asked her.

"Very," she told him seriously. "Rabies isn't a laughing matter." Despite the words, a chuckle slipped past her lips, and it felt like the best kind of relief to laugh with him. His own mouth stretched in a brilliant smile, his eyes twinkling. Suddenly, she understood what Angela had been trying to tell her before she took this trip.

Finally, after years of knowing one another, Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth had finally met.

* * *

_**do you still love us...?**_


	18. Chapter 17

**_A/N: Please put down the pitchforks, y'all... we're back. We just needed a little break, k's? We were tired out from all that smut, just like B and B. We all took a nap._**

**_We had fun reading your answers to our pop quiz! Just to set the record straight, each one of us is VERY smutty and VERY emotional. We both tear up at Booth's little speeches and are dirty little smut-lovers. Also, we do not take turns writing chapters... each one is a joint labor of love. But we loved reading your answers - some of them made us smile. xoxo_**

* * *

**11:44 pm**

He found himself again in the claw foot tub, only this time, his partner was cradled against him, her injured ankle propped up on the rim of the bath. Lazily, he ran a his fingertips up her bare arm and she sighed, turning her head to rest her cheek against the damp skin of his chest.

Neither of them had spoken in the last several moments, seemingly content to simply lie together in a warm, wet tangle. Her hair clung to the dampness of her throat and his own shoulder, and he shifted slightly, his eyes falling closed. The only sounds in the bathroom were the occasional ripples of the bathwater and the still-constant rhythm of rain.

He was hesitant to speak too much; to open his mouth lest the wrong thing came out. The magic (which sounded slightly silly to admit to himself, but it wasn't far off) that had allowed this night to happen seemed somewhat fragile, and he worried about discussing their partnership in detail, of attempting to make decisions about what all this would mean for them. For the moment, he told himself to simply be content with the fact that he was able to hold her, to sleep next to her tonight, and the budding faith that he had that it would somehow all work out - it had to.

Because he was already in far too deep.

"We need more hot water," she murmured, pulling out of his embrace slightly to pull the plug and let some of the more tepid water drain into the old pipes. As she twisted the hot water spigot, he let his eyes follow the lean muscles of her back and the slender slope of her shoulders. Reaching out, he trailed a single finger over the slick skin of her spine, and she turned to peek at him over her shoulder, smiling.

His stomach flip-flopped at her simple smile. She eased back into his arms, and he dipped his head to press a gentle kiss on her shoulder. She shivered slightly, and he repeated the gesture, this time flickering his tongue against her skin before giving her a more open-mouthed kiss against the sensitive spot.

"Booth," she managed. "You're spoiling me. I'll never want to get out of the tub and we'll turn into people-soup."

"Fine by me," he murmured, trailing his lips to her throat, sucking lightly. He moved the one arm he had around her up to her chest, feeling her nipples pearl against his forearm as he pulled her up more tightly between his legs. "Let's just stay here forever."

She shivered again as he moved up to the lobe of her ear, pulling it softly with his teeth. "I think Sweets' dad might show up at some point in that forever."

"I'll shoot him," he promised distractedly, pressing a kiss to her jaw. "It's no problem."

She laughed quietly, lifting her good foot to turn off the water wit her toes. "I bet Sweets is worried about us."

He paused, considering this. "You think?"

She nodded. "He probably thinks we've destroyed the cabin or killed one another..." Her words trailed off as he cupped a breast. "_Oh..._" she breathed.

"We haven't destroyed anything," he said, his voice low.

"You cracked the door," she gasped as he swept a thumb over her nipple.

"I'll buy him a new one."

"He probably thinks you shot something," she continued. She was clearly trying to maintain some sense of control, but her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the tub, telling a different story.

"Everything in this cabin other than us is already dead and mounted to the wall." A drop of water slipped down her neck and he caught it on his tongue.

"You shot a clown head on an ice cream truck," she reminded him breathlessly. "Sweets loves to bring that up."

He chuckled. "Bones?"

"Yeah?" she whispered.

He slipped a hand down over her belly between her thighs. "I don't want to talk about Sweets right now."

She moaned low in her throat as his fingers slipped over her skin, the heat reaching him even through the warm water. He was hard again, despite near-exhaustion and feeling drowsy from the heat of the bath, he couldn't seem to help from responding to her body. Her ass was pressed firmly between his legs, and as he rotated his touch, caressing her through the water, she let her head drop back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling closed.

"Oh, god..." she gasped. "_Booth..._"

He dropped his head, kissing the tip of her nose, then leaning down further to kiss her mouth softly. Pulling her hand from the bath, she wound her damp fingers into his hair, holding him to her, opening her own mouth to flicker her tongue against his.

He returned his mouth to her ear as he slipped two fingers teasingly over the entrance to her body. "What do you want...?" he whispered. "_Tell me..._"

_"Oh,"_ she breathed, rolling her hips slightly.

"Do you want me inside you?" he rasped, his own body pulsing at her reaction.

"Yes," she moaned. "Yes."

"Like this?" he asked quietly, slipping only one finger inside of her. "Is this what you want?"

She only moaned in response, her hips cresting the surface of the water, her head tilting further back on his shoulder.

"More?" he rasped.

She arched into his hand, her lashes fluttering, and he added another finger. She clenched him tightly inside her, gasping, and he was so turned on himself he could barely focus. "Is this what you want, baby?" he moaned, tilting her jaw so he could kiss her again. "Is it?"

"_Yes," _she gasped. "God, _yes_."

His thumb found her clit, pressing down as his fingers still moved inside of her, and her lips suddenly trembled, only a breath from his own as her climax washed over her. Watching her come just might be the most erotic thing he'd ever experienced, and as she arched up to kiss him again, he wanted simply to sink into her mouth - to do, touch, _feel._

Everything else could wait.

* * *

They were being avoidant. She didn't have to be a psychologist to know that, or even a fully functional human being right now. She could not imagine that any therapist in the world would blame her for shutting the world out right now. Not when Seeley Booth was focusing all of his energies and attentions on her...not by fighting with her, but by making her body positively _glow _with his touch_._

She had protested weakly when he had left her alone in the tub, him promising it would only be a few minutes before he retrieved her. Satisfied with that response, she laid back again, closing her eyes. As lovely as her first bath had been, this one had been exponentially more relaxing.

There was no part of her that had been prepared for what her partner was like as a lover. Certainly, she had imagined it, although usually when she was done with those fantasies and lying gasping and sweating, tangled in her sheets (sometimes, embarrassingly, not alone… her imagination had been known to take over even when she was experiencing the act with someone else), she typically rationalized that the man in her dreams was someone who looked like Booth, sounded like him, smelled like him… but, of course, was not _really _him.

She had sometimes imagined him as a giving lover, sweet and tender, and other times as being demanding and forceful… especially after their encounter over the back of her couch. But she still could not quite reconcile it… in reality, he was _both. _At the same time, he was both. How could that be? It didn't make sense. But as she had relaxed against him in this tub, his fingers massaging shampoo through her hair while he murmured compliments in her ear, she felt as possessed by him as when he had been tearing her clothes off a few days before. She felt hypnotized, and she had no desire to wake up from such a trance.

She heard him moving things around outside the bathroom, and she stirred curiously, pulling the plug from the bath and letting the water drain. What other surprises did he have in store for her tonight? This time, there was no need to call for his help; she knew he would come for her, so she waited.

"Jeez, Bones. Put a towel on or something. There are innocent raccoons around here," he teased her upon his reentry, holding his hand out to her to help her stand.

"You're funny," she smirked, fingers clasping around his as she stood. "What were you doing out there?"

"You'll see." Lifting her gently over the edge of the tub, he set her back on her feet in front of him. He reached for a towel on the stand beside them, and began drying her off gently, pressing the material against her shoulders and middle and legs before moving up again to squeeze it around her hair, soaking up the moisture there.

"There are still some things I can do myself," she told him, without much conviction.

"Mmm-hmm. I know." He did not stop his ministrations with the towel. Once he seemed satisfied that she was as dry as she was getting right now, he dropped the towel and lifted her without a word, cradling her against him as he had when he carried her the second leg of their journey back to the cabin. "I like you like this."

"Naked?" she murmured against his shoulder. A slow smile came over her face when she saw the living room. He had fed the fire again, but instead of the simple nest of blankets and pillows that had been on the floor previously, he had dragged the mattress off the bed in the bedroom and positioned it facing the fireplace. "Bedroom isn't good enough for you, huh?"

He shrugged as he lowered her to the much springier surface. "Nothing good has happened there so far. Figured we'd stay where the good stuff's at." He smiled as she relaxed back into the mattress. "Not just naked," he said softly. "Just… you know, without the nice clothes and jewelry, without the makeup and all the other disguises. You're always so put together. I like seeing you… just be you."

She blinked, surprised as always by him. Disguises. What an interesting word to describe it. "Well. I'm sorry to say that I can't imagine I'll be going to work this way anytime soon."

Covering her with the sheet, he eased himself beside her. "I suppose I'll just have to take it when I can get it, then." They lay facing one another, his hand coming up to stroke back her still-damp hair. His face looked thoughtful in the firelight, but he stayed silent now.

Was that what they were doing? Taking it when they could get it? Stealing moments away from the world, knowing that when they returned to their real lives, these feelings would have to be put back into the claustrophobic space they had made for them? A memory came to her suddenly. When she was a child, her family had owned a cat (what was its name? Cleo, that was right) that they kept indoors. One day, Russ had carelessly let the door open on his way outside to play with his friends, and the curious creature had sneaked out behind him. It was three days before the found her, walking along the wood's edge by their house. The thing that Brennan remembered the most from the whole experience was how pitifully Cleo had wailed when her father captured her and brought her back inside. For months, she would spend hours by the window, stalk the door in case an unsuspecting person left it cracked open behind them. She had got a taste of the grass and the wind and the trees and the animals. After that, although young Temperance knew that her pet was safer on the inside, she had a guilty sense that she had become her captor.

Her eyelids were drooping. "Sleep," he told her, brushing her cheek.

"I don't want to," she admitted. She knew when she awoke, she would be that much closer to being put back on the inside, where she was both safe, but trapped.

"I know. But you have to," he said, empathetically.

"But in the morning…" Her eyes fell closed.

"There's no morning," he told her softly. "There's just here, and now."

She felt his gentle kiss on her lips before she drifted away, wishing desperately for his words to be true.

* * *

**6:05 am**

Amazingly, the rain still insistently battered the roof of the small cabin and the windows when he finally pulled himself from consciousness. Daylight was barely visible through the haze of rain and clouds, giving the outlines of the windows only the slightest glow or indication that it was morning. Yawning softly, he stretched his legs slightly, looking down at the woman tangled next amongst his own limbs and the bedding.

She had turned several times throughout the night, but somehow she'd ended up nestling into him in the early morning hours, and her head was now tucked against his throat, her hair teasing his chin and nose. One of her thighs was sandwiched between his own; her other, injured ankle cradled in a pile of quilt. The scent of her hair and her skin still lingered in the sheets and he inhaled slowly, nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek.

He hated to wake her, but coffee was starting to sound necessary. Easing himself gently from her embrace, he heard her sigh deeply, mumbling something he didn't catch. He smiled as he stood, pulling on a pair of sweats and grabbing his toothbrush from his suitcase, brushing quickly in the small kitchen sink.

It was morning. Not just morning, but another day, another wind of the clock, another rotation of the earth. They came and went, often with little consequence, but today it meant that it was time for them to head back to their lives, and he found himself incredibly reluctant to do so. As he set water to boil for the coffee on the small gas camp stove, he found himself slipping back into reality. Whatever they'd discovered here - he worried it was something taken slightly out of context, something that couldn't exist or be maintained back where his partner's sense of logic and order seemed to prevail.

He poured water slowly over the grounds he'd found in a small Tupperware container, watching it turn a deep, rich brown as the aroma pricked at his nose. _Yes, morning._ She'd seemed reluctant to fall asleep last night. Was it because she knew in the morning everything would go back to the way it had been?

He wasn't sure... he could do that. And, at the same time, he wasn't sure he was entirely ready for whatever it was this new discovery really meant.

Pouring himself a mug of coffee, he opened the door and stepped barefoot onto the small porch, protected from the rain by the deep overhang. He'd always liked the rain as a child - had gone running out into it with his brother despite his mother's protest, slipping into some sort of pretend-world where everything was made more mysterious by the unpredictable weather and gray.

He set a hand against the wide wooden railing, resting his weight on his forearm as he gazed out into the dense foliage surrounding the land, taking a sip of coffee, wincing slightly at the slight staleness of the grounds. Even with gray skies and pouring rain, this place was beautiful.

"Good morning."

He lowered the mug from his lips, glancing slowly over his shoulder to find his partner standing in the doorway, her hair a rumpled mess, her bare body wrapped in a sheet. His mouth went dry at the sight of her - she was practically glowing, despite the gray of morning. He'd always wondered what she'd look like in the morning, how her eyes would look still filled with half-sleep.

"You shouldn't be on that ankle," he scolded quietly, pushing off the railing and walking towards her.

"It's a lot better this morning," she promised, lifting the sheet gently and holding it out for him to see, flexing it more easily. "See? It's not even really swollen anymore."

He winced. "It's all purple, though."

She set it back down gently, putting a little weight on it cautiously. "Really, Booth, it's just a sprain. I'll be..." She paused, smiling slightly, tilting her head. "What's the correct expression? About weather?"

He looked at her amusedly, his eyes feeling bright. "Right as rain?"

"Yes. That's it. I'll be right as rain in a few days."

He grinned. "Whatever you say. I still think you should stay off your feet. Very cute, though."

She wrinkled her nose slightly. "Cute? It's hard to think how that term applies to a grown woman. I'd hardly say I'm cute."

He tilted his head, studying her. "You are... so many things," he said quietly. "And yes, cute is one of them - depending on the moment." He saw her mouth start to open and took a step closer. "Don't worry... it's a good thing. I promise."

She seemed to consider this, her head tilting up to meet his eyes the closer he came to her. "I guess I'll just have to trust you on that one."

He nodded slowly, his smile growing. "Yes, you should."

And she smiled in return, brilliantly, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. He set his coffee mug on the windowsill next to her quickly before turning back to her. Her eyes were shining brightly, her cheeks flushed slightly pink.

It hung there for a moment between them, the question of yes or no; of should they, shouldn't they. If he touched her this morning, they were bringing yesterday into today. He watched her eyes, waiting for some sort of answer, some sort of guidance for what to do. His body was vibrating at the sight of her, not wanting to be ignored.

_Oh, fuck it._

His body swallowed the last few inches between them as his arm snaked around her, pulling her forcefully to him, effectively erasing the innocence of the last few minutes when his tongue swept aggressively into her mouth. She was into it too, winding her fingers into the waistband of his pants, clutching him to her. Her own tongue was wild against his, her head tilting back to kiss him more deeply, and he let his other hand wind into her hair as he pressed her up against the side of the small cabin.

She tasted of toothpaste as well, and the minty flavor of her mouth and tongue mixed with her own flavor excited him. His hands slipped down to her bottom, cupping her, pulling her more tightly against him. He was hard almost instantly, and she pressed into his arousal, her pelvis tilting upwards slightly, and he moaned as he pulled his mouth from hers, trailing his lips along her neck.

"_God, you're sexy_," he rasped next to her ear.

She snaked her hand into his hair, gripping a handful firmly, pulling his head back, their eyes locking. "Oh, yeah?" she asked breathlessly.

He tried to kiss her again and she pulled back slightly, evading his mouth, and it only made him hotter. _She was up for the chase this morning._

Simultaneously spinning her around and lifting her up against him so that her feet hovered above the wooden floor of the porch, he backed her up several steps until she was now pressed against one of the support beams of the porch, the slight spatter of rain reaching their bare skin.

"You wanna play, baby?" he asked breathlessly. "Get me riled up?"

Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were heavy lidded. "What I want," she gasped, "Is you." She gave him a challenging, thoroughly sexy look. "_Now_."


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: TGIS! See, you THINK we mean TGIF, but we totally meant the former...Thank God it's Smut.**

**Your preference for B/B to stay at the cabin forevah and evah is duly noted. Of course, that would make this less of a story, and more like gratuitous pornography. But heck if we aren't feeling the wonders of nature, too. It's amazing what fresh air can do for you.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She had made exceptions for him. She blamed her hurt ankle for making her more helpless than usual, and her exhaustion from their long day yesterday. But she had never let any lover care for her as thoroughly as Booth did last night, had never surrendered so fully to anyone. It felt... strange. Good. Still strange... a little disorienting to explore parts untouched and unknown.

Now, however, rejuvenated from her sleep or the rain, she remembered herself a little more, felt the thrill of affecting him the way she obviously was. He had sat her up on the railing, the sheet she had been wearing dropping and piling around her waist. The cool spray of the rain on her back stood in stark contrast to the growing heat of her flesh, and a sense of power surged through her. His mouth lowered to her chest, kissed the raindrops that were gathering on the swell of her breasts.

"Very bold, Agent Booth. Right here? Outside?" she taunted him, trusting him to hold her in place with one strong hand while she leaned against it.

"You asked for it, baby" he groaned against her, his tongue circling one rigid nipple before his teeth closed on it gently, sending a shock through her.

She supposed she _had _asked for it. But she couldn't resist the heady satisfaction she got from teasing him, while he did the same to her body. "I don't know what makes you think..._ ah... _that just because I'm doing this with you... _fuck, _yes... you get to call me baby."

A little roughly, his mouth worked its way up her throat to her mouth, kissing her dewy lips demandingly. "Out here, I can call you what I want," he responded gruffly as he came up for air.

Oh, he was _good _at this... lesser men had been intimidated by her challenging, unable to read the sincerity behind her goading words. But Booth, as always, met her step for step, kiss for kiss, word for word. Dispensing with the talking, she decided on a more direct and effective means to bring him to his knees. Fumbling between their increasingly damp bodies, her hand worked its way into his sweats, finding him pleasingly hard and huge and bare in her squeezing palm. _There _was the sound she was looking for... that strangled half-groan, half-sob that warned her of his fear that his pleasure was going to become more than hers, should she continue. _Good. _She yanked his lips to hers as she massaged him, slowly and tortuously.

"You wanna make me lose it, right here in your hand, don't you?" he asked her raggedly, his hips beginning to thrust in time with her strokes. She could feel the knuckle of her thumb press against her clit with every upstroke, and it excited her. It would serve him right, she thought, remembering vividly the two times he had brought her to the brink with the mere touch of his fingers. But...

"No. Not my hand," she whispered, pushing against his bare chest to make him step back, sliding off the railing onto her strong leg and switching positions to press him back against it. His eyes were wide, and she reveled in being the seductress. She had never been given the opportunity to play that role with him. She would make up for that now.

"You don't know what you do to me," he gasped hoarsely, as she kneeled before him, letting the sheet cushion her knees from the wooden porch. The elastic band of his sweatpants gave easily against her urging fingers, sliding down his narrow hips.

She licked her lips. "I might know," she said softly, contemplating the task set before her, strong and hard and beautiful to her eyes. His cock seemed to be positively straining towards her, and she could see the intense physical response of his body to her attentions. Yes. She knew she did something to him.

His head fell back and he took a white-knuckled grip on the wet railing when she took him in her hand and flicked her tongue out to collect the drop of liquid on the tip of him. "But you have no fucking idea how much," he groaned, hand lightly touching her damp waves as she moaned at the taste of him and brought her mouth to him eagerly once more.

She loved this. Loved the feel of him in her mouth, twitching against her tongue, loved the flex of his ass as she gripped it firmly with one hand to guide him to her, loved the quaking in his thighs as he struggled to stay standing. Loved the sounds he made, accompanied by the patter of the rain, and the taste of the drops as they dripped down his body.

"I love this," she breathed as she pulled off of him, just for a second, before swallowing him back up again, stroking with her tongue and sucking with her lips and tightening her throat around him. She wanted to take him in again, like food, like water, like air, make him become a part of her, and she moved faster against him.

He was cursing, groaning, thrusting to her now. "Fuck, Bones..." he burst out, breathing increasingly ragged, sounding tortured, sounding close.

Pulling her mouth from him again, continuing stroking him with her hand, she spoke. "Booth?"

"What, Bones?" he gasped out.

Before she returned to him for the final time, sucking hard, accepting his shuddering climax, she sighed.

"Call me baby."

* * *

Hauling the mattress back onto the bed frame, he dumped the pile of blankets back on, hesitating. They should probably bring the bedding back with them and launder them, but... the idea of driving up here to return a set of sheets seemed slightly insane. Sighing, he paused in the door-frame.

"What do we do about the sheets?"

She turned around, holding her own mug of coffee. Her lips were a deeper red, still slightly swollen from her attentions on the porch, and his crotch felt heavy. "Oh," she murmured. "Ummm, maybe just throw the blankets on? We should take them back with us, I guess."

"Will that seem weird?"

She shrugged, a sly smile curling across her mouth. "Those sheets saw quite a bit of action, Booth. It's probably best."

Agreed. He yanked them out of the pile, dropping them on the floor and hastily tugging up the blankets before returning to the living area for the pillows. She'd beat him to it, bending down awkwardly with her weight shifted on her good leg, and he tried to snatch them from her. "Hey! Stop working, woman."

"Don't call me woman," she muttered.

"Fine. Stop working, baby," he volleyed back.

Her eyes sparkled. "You can't call me that once we leave here."

"Says you," he taunted. "Baby, baby, baby..."

"_Stop_," she insisted, trying to sound stern but failing.

"Give me the pillows," he ordered. "C'mon."

She stepped back, holding onto them. "No."

Even the slightest challenge could get him riled up now, and while it had always been a bit of a turn on, now his mind went immediately to sex; to her beneath him, to her on her knees in front of him. _Settle down, buddy._

He stepped closer. "Bones," he said, his voice low, his eyes twinkling. "We have to get on the road - no time for games, sweetheart."

She arched a brow, the heat in her eyes at the use of the endearment. "Who's playing games?" she murmured, attempting to step around him.

He grabbed her around the waist, and as he lifted her, she let out a sound he'd never heard from her - a squeal, followed by a peal of laughter. "Put me _down,_ she gasped.

"I should drop you on your head for being so stubborn," he threatened. "Give it up, Bones. Drop 'em."

"No way," she challenged.

He started to turn her upside down.

"Booth!" she shrieked. "Unfair! I'm injured and at a distinct disadvantage!"

He took pity on her, setting her down. "Fine. Now behave and hand 'em over."

Again she tried to skirt around him, and he grabbed for her. She dropped one pillow and wound up, smacking him soundly with the other.

His eyes widened. "Oh, you asked for it, gimp girl." He ducked her next blow, snatching up the discarded pillow at this feet, swinging to catch her on her hip, and her eyes widened.

"You hit someone with a sprained ankle?"

He paused. "Bones -"

The pillow smacked him soundly in the face, and her laughter reached his ears. "Sucker."

Unbelievable. The more time he spent with her, the more relaxed, the more surprising she became. As the expression of shock finally slipped from his face, he dropped his own pillow again and tried to snag hers. She hopped back a few inches on her good foot, trying to evade him yet again, and when they both tugged, the pillow slipped free and flew into a lamp, knocking it to the ground, the base shattering.

Her eyes widened. "_Booth!"_

_Oh, no. There was no WAY she was pinning this on him._

"_You're _the one who wouldn't let go!" he accused. "I said I was going to remake the bed! You have a goddamn sprained ankle!"

"It's a _pillow,_" she shot back. "I wasn't trying to haul the mattress back! I'm not an invalid!"

"You're being _ridiculous._"

"_I'm _being ridiculous?"

"You hit me first!" he crowed.

"Not hard!"

Glancing at the floor, he studied the pieces of broken ceramic. "You're buying him a new lamp."

"_Me?_" She gave him and incredulous look. "No way is this my fault."

"I'm already replacing the damn _door._"

"Well, _you_ cracked it!"

He snatched up the pillow. "I was trying to _protect _you."

"From a raccoon!" she scoffed.

She was unbelievable. "You were scared," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Don't give me that."

"Give you what?"

He sighed. "It's an expression, Bones."

She snatched the pillow back from him. "You broke the lamp."

Once again, he found himself wanting to strangle her. Or kiss her. "_We _broke the lamp. I'll split it with you - a whole twenty bucks or whatever the hell an ugly lamp costs. Final offer."

Her eyes narrowed as well. "Well, that would imply an admission of guilt -"

He grabbed the pillow back. "Ooooh, you are _infuriating!_" he shouted. "I swear to god, you -"

"_Guys._"

The both froze, turning slowly. Dripping wet and wearing a ridiculous yellow rain slicker that made him look like some kind of overgrown rubber ducky, was their therapist. The look on his face was one of utter dejection. "Has _nothing_ changed?"

* * *

This was possibly the worst day of his professional life. It had rained all night and all morning, making his drive on the highway miserable, and his trip down the dirt trail to the cabin even worse. Twice, he nearly got stuck, tires spinning in the mud, and although he got out of those pits, his new light blue Lexus was spattered in mud from undercarriage to windshield. Before he even climbed out of his filthy car, his fears were confirmed; the wooden door to his father's cabin had a jagged split. The sky decided to open up particularly wide as he made a run from car to porch, drenching him. And to top it off, his clients... his _prized_ clients, who he had _been so _sure would improve through his trickery and make him the recipient of some sort of therapist of the month award... were apparently hell-bent on destroying each other and every piece of furniture around them.

This was _so _not cool.

"You know," he snapped at them, reaching down to pull on his rubber boots and tug them off, getting his hands muddy and his socks wet in the process, "I went to school for _6 years. _And not just any 6 years! I had to work _hard _to get done that fast! And I got all kinds of scholarships, had my first publication 2 years before any of my classmates, got hired by the F.B.I. _right _out of grad school. And what do I get? _You two_! Trying to _kill _each other."

For the first time, he saw the shattered glass on the floor, and as his eyes traveled upwards on his shell-shocked clients, saw the bright purple of Brennan's ankle. "You seriously physically _fought? _How could I... I _never _thought you'd actually hurt each other!"

That seemed to snap Booth out of his momentary trance. "Settle down, Skippy," he said irritably. "Bones hurt herself out in the woods. You should feel lucky if we don't sue you for a preventable work-related injury. Since you made us do this. For work."

Sweets barely heard him. "And you are still _yelling at each other? _Twenty-four hours, and you still haven't run out of things to scream about?" He surveyed the broken mess in the living room. "Shit. What am I going to tell Dad? He loved that lamp, dude. It's been here forever." Shrugging off his rain slicker, he let it fall to the floor in a wet heap. Much like he felt.

"We were just discussing that," Dr. Brennan said, her voice having an oddly tentative quality. What was up with her? She usually wasn't so freaked out at being caught yelling at her partner. Actually, she seemed to enjoy it.

The therapist's mind was racing, trying to figure out how this could have gone so wrong, how he could possibly get things under control again. This was his worst nightmare. "We're... we're going to have to work harder, that's all. Two sessions a week. Three. Intensive psychoanalysis. Biofeedback. Medication. Something. _Something _has to work." He began sinking into the armchair.

"Sweets, don't..."

It was too late. The instant his ass hit the chair he felt the wetness spread across the back of his pants. He had forgotten that this cabin's roof leaked. His head dropped to his hands, and he didn't bother to stand. There was no point. If he stood, the floor would probably just cave in from underneath him.

Brennan's face had gone from shock, to embarrassment, to empathy. "Hey," she said, sidling up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, removing it quickly and looking at her damp fingers in distaste. "No, you're wrong. It wasn't all like this. This fight was a fluke. We talked!"

She was just trying to make him feel better. "You did?" he asked suspiciously, looking up at her between his fingers. "About what?"

"Um. Well." His clients exchanged looks. "I learned... that Booth's dad made models."

Okay. That was obscure.

"And I learned that Bones learned how to dance the Macarena in Spain."

Even more obscure. But... promising. "Really?"

Dr. Brennan nodded. "It's true."

Sweets looked around weakly. "But why... is everything broken?"

Booth cleared his throat. "A raccoon. And we'll pay for it. Bones'll pay for the lamp." The anthropologist shot him an irritated look.

This was all too weird. But somehow, not terribly surprising. "So the exercise... it was helpful?"

This time, the look they gave each other was longer, and more questioning. As if they couldn't decide the answer to that one. Finally, Brennan replied, softly.

"Yes. It was helpful." Her eyes didn't leave her partner's. "Sometimes, it is good to escape from the pressures of reality. It helps you get in touch with... everything else."

The F.B.I. agent nodded. Neither of them was looking at Sweets. Even outside of the therapy room, they made him feel invisible. "I guess... all good things must come to an end, huh?"

"I guess," she replied, quietly, finally casting her eyes downward. "Let me... get the dustpan. This glass lying around is dangerous." Limping slightly, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Leaving him alone with Booth. Great.

"So you came to check on us, or what?"

"I just... had some concerns."

"Unfounded ones, I can assure you."

Taking another look at the mess on the floor, he wasn't so sure. Glancing over to the doorway to the bedroom, he saw something else. A white pile.

"Agent Booth?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Were you planning on taking my father's _sheets?"_

In a rare show of embarrassment, the agent's face colored pinkly.

He would _never _understand them.


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: Aaaannd we're back! This steamboat is chugging along at a pretty good pace, yes? Never be too sure where the final destination is. Sometimes we might decide to change ports;)**

**Talk to us, b/c we so love it!**

* * *

Behind the wheel, he considered his options. They had spent the first several miles chuckling over the multitude of expressions that had crossed their therapist's face. But as they moved further from the woods and the small cabin where everything - at least for twenty-four hours - had changed for them, reality seemed to be returning, mile by mile. The easy banter and displays of affection had dwindled as well, and he realized, as they flew past a roadside sign, that they hadn't spoken in twelve miles.

He glanced over at her, and her eyes were on her hands, clasped in her lap, fingers intertwining.

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, sighing. "Bones?"

She snapped her head up. "We should probably figure out -"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." She tugged on her jacket, fiddling with the button.

"Because we..."

"I know."

He swallowed, looking back at the road. He'd been the one to speak first, to let the first hint of doubt enter into his voice. And yet, somehow, he'd almost been hoping - for what, he wasn't sure exactly. But hope had been present, if even for a moment.

"Maybe, we should just..."

"Forget it happened," she whispered.

He swung his head around to look at her. "Forget?" he croaked.

She blushed, the pink quickly flooding her cheeks. "Oh. Well, isn't that... what you were just..."

He dragged his eyes quickly back to the road to avoid swerving into the opposite lane. "Yeah, no. I just -" He tightened his grip on the wheel. "I just wasn't going to use... that word," he said quietly.

He could feel her eyes on him, but was afraid to turn from the road. He felt unsafe doing so in more ways then one. "Booth," she said quietly.

His throat felt dry. He felt torn in two - Christ, he didn't know _what_ he wanted. The idea of things going further, of having to make decisions about work and their partnership and his own kid... it seemed overwhelming. But she'd gone and uttered that word, had implied it might be something she could forget when the last twenty-four hours were already branded into his mind, had become a permanent part of who he was. _Forget? He'd never be able to forget._

Her hand was suddenly on his arm, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his jacket, and he finally let his eyes meet hers for a moment, and realized how hard it was to pull away. Glancing behind him at the traffic, he suddenly signaled, pulling over to the shoulder of the road. She was still touching him, still connected in a small way, and he felt relieved for some reason.

He still held the wheel, but he saw her turn in her seat, shifting to face him. "I didn't mean forget," she murmured. Sighing, she brushed her hair out of her eyes, gazing out the front at the cars that whizzed past them. "That wouldn't be possible. I just meant -"

"We need to go back to being partners," he interrupted quietly. "Just partners - in the professional sense. It's what we're good at."

She hesitated, turning to look at him. "Just partners?"

Her voice was steady and calm, but her eyes told a different story. They were shining brightly, and while there were no tears that he could see threatening to slip down her cheeks, he wondered.

"Friends," he promised. "Always, Bones, you know that."

She nodded firmly, her hand squeezing his arm for another moment before letting it slip back into her lap. "Agreed. It seems only logical. Clearly, a relationship of any other kind would complicate our partnership and compromise the work we do."

He nodded in agreement. "Yes."

"Good."

He sat still for a moment, not pulling the car back onto the road, and she glanced at him again. "I'm glad we... agree," he said quietly.

"Yeah, me too," she said weakly.

He turned to her one last time, and when her eyes flashed to his he was suddenly swept away, the beat of his heart setting the pace of the filmstrip flashing before his eyes. Images of his partner flooded him, sensations returning, and for a moment, she was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked slowly through the trees, her face buried in his neck. Her body quivered as he pressed kisses along the length of her; his tongue filled her mouth. And she arched into him, her hips cresting towards his, and now, sitting in the car next to her, he felt lost. The fragile moment from the last day was finally broken. Reality had returned, and oh, was it a bitch.

She must have understood, because she unbuckled her seat belt suddenly, stretching over to press a kiss, soft and gentle, against his cheek. He swallowed, clenching his jaw tightly in contrast, his fingers gripping the wheel, and she sighed. "Let's get back to the city."

Nodding, he pulled fought the pull of her like one fights a magnet and pressed his foot heavily to the gas, the car accelerating quickly to once again join the rush of traffic.  
_  
_

* * *

It was inevitable, really, and the "it" was the reason she had been so reluctant to sleep last night, despite her exhaustion. He had told her that there was only the here and now, but Temperance Brennan... the _real _Temperance Brennan, who worked on logic and reason... knew that this particular mentality was only a therapy exercise. There was always a tomorrow. One could think of it, worry about it, plan it, or not... but it was always coming.

The time had come to switch from focus on the feeling, to focus on the future.

When the pulled up to her apartment, a combination of relief and dread coursed through her. They had spent the last 24 hours together. The beginning had been tense, the ending humorous, the interim wild, but every moment of that time she could count on him being there. Being alone again, pulling away, felt like ripping something of herself apart. But the sooner she could readjust, the sooner she could begin thinking in terms of her work and her books and her skeletons, rather than in terms of the trees and the rain and her partner's body quaking against her own... she was anxious to get there again. Everything made sense in that frame of mind. Everything was safe.

She glanced over at him as she took her seat belt off for the second time this trip. He was struggling, she knew. Booth wasn't like her. When he made an emotional connection with someone, he maintained it. He didn't back away from it. But this was a special case.

"I'll help you carry your bag," he offered.

"No, you don't have to. The doorman will help me. And I'll take the elevator."

"Your ankle..."

"Is actually feeling a lot better. Being off of it for a few hours last night really helped."

He paused, as if deciding whether or not to argue with her, then appeared to decide in the negative. His head cocked, and he studied her. "So... friends." It was not phrased as a question, but rather as a reflection of their earlier decision.

At his statement, memories of her own history filled her, of the relationships she had with men since Booth had come into her life. Some had been merely casual, had filled the time between work and sleep. Others... like the one she had had with Timothy Sullivan... had meant more. But every one of them shared an important factor.

She had _never _been able to choose a boyfriend over her partner and friend. There was no trade-off. There was little competition. This particular relationship was too important to her, meant too much. Other relationships came second.

And it was still true, even though the "other relationship" was with the very same partner and friend in whom her devotions were held. Their friendship took priority... always had, and always would.

Nodding, she held out her hand in a friendly gesture. "Of course."

Taking her hand and studying it for a second, he tugged on it and pulled her into a hug. With a sigh, she leaned over the console and sagged into him, the now-familiar contour of his chest pressing firmly into her own. She sucked in a breath, wishing she could bottle the scent of him and have it for whenever she felt unsure, needed comforting. His hand ran through her hair as he held her to his shoulder.

When she pulled back, it took every ounce of her willpower not to lean in and press her lips against his. How could such a thing begin to feel so natural, in the short course of one day? "I guess... I will see you at work?"

He cleared his throat. "Actually, at therapy first, more likely. Remember, we scheduled that extra session to discuss the outcome of Sweets' little experiment."

"Oh. I thought that since he made his visit earlier, maybe that wouldn't be necessary."

"I would venture the guess that after his little visit, he's more bound and determined than ever to get us in that therapy room every possible minute."

"That's probably correct," she agreed. After a pause, she recognized that lingering any longer was going to look suspicious. "Okay. I'll see you then." Forcing herself to look into his deep brown eyes, she smiled tentatively, as he did in return. _Friends._

Her doorman scurried over the second she emerged from the car, fussing over her injured ankle and insisting on carrying not only her larger bag, but her purse as well. As he prodded about the origin of her injury, she watched the Tahoe pull away from her, leaving her once again, on her own.

Once safe in her own apartment, she dragged her bag to her bedroom to begin unpacking. Unzipping the thing, she glanced at her bed. It beckoned to her irresistibly. She really had done very little sleeping the night before. With only a little bit of fighting, she abandoned the bag and collapsed onto her back, arm across her eyes. Everything in her felt heavy, tired. It was not all unpleasant. Her muscles felt like noodles. Most likely so relaxed as the result of having more orgasms than she had ever had before in a 24 hour period. Her loins stirred at the thought.

_Stop._

She was saved from her wandering thoughts by the ring of the phone she had just turned back on when she walked through the door. _Shit. _She hadn't even checked the 8 messages that had piled up while she had been otherwise occupied in the woods. Sighing, she picked up without even looking at the caller I.D.

"Brennan."

"Hey Dr. B."

"Jack?" She struggled to a sitting position. "What's up?"

"How was your little overnighter in the woods? Therapeutic?"

"Something like that," she replied dryly.

"Hey, I hate to bother you so soon after you got back, but..." he hesitated. "I was hoping maybe you could spend some time with Angela."

"Why? Is she okay?" Now she was concerned, and went to stand again, nearly forgetting about her ankle. The pressure and pain reminded her quickly.

"She's fine." She detected a hint of frustration in his voice. "She's just... insane."

_And here we go again._

* * *

His vision was slightly blurry. Dropping the empty beer bottle back onto the damp napkin, he turned to look at the woman next to him, her long legs on display from where she was perched on the bar stool. He'd only been alone for about twenty minutes before Julia had appeared, offering to buy him a drink.

He'd accepted.

Work had been grating, paperwork endless, and his gut was still left slightly in knots after this morning. He was starting to feel like an alcoholic. He'd headed to the shooting range after leaving the office, but it hadn't managed to dissolve the tension still left in his shoulders and neck. And so he'd headed to a bar, figuring he'd had have a beer or two before heading home to his house to sleep - alone.

The woman was beautiful. The ends of her light blonde hair just teased the line of her jaw, and her dress was sexy without being overly revealing. She was in DC for several months on business from London, and her accent, particularly after several beers, was decidedly charming.

And he didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know she wanted to take him home.

The lights were low in the bar, and when her hand again settled on his knee, he gave her a slow grin. Friendship was just fine, friendship was perfect. With each passing minute, the memories of his partner faded further into yesterday, and when the bartender arrived, offering another round, their eyes met, as if considering.

"I was kind of thinking of going to bed," Julia said softly, tilting her head.

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if he'd misread the signals. "You're tired, then?"

She smiled coyly. "I didn't say I was tired. I said I was thinking about going to bed."

_Excellent._

Clearing his throat, he turned to the waiting bartender. "I think we're good, thanks." Reaching into his pocket, he tugged out two twenties and tossed them onto the bar. Julia slid from her seat delicately, her hand falling to his arm to steady herself.

"Whoops," she said quietly.

He smiled again. "C'mon."

He lead her out into the cool night, turning to face her as he walked backwards. "I'm not sure I should drive," he admitted.

Her lips twitched, her hips swaying as she followed. "I can drive... I'd love to take you home," she teased.

His grin was wide, enjoying the attentions of such a beautiful woman. This was exactly what he needed after such a long day at work and a -

_A mesmerizing morning._

Shaking the thought off, he tilted his chin towards his SUV. "Lemme just grab my badge from my truck."

He could tell the fact that he was FBI impressed her, and it felt nice - to impress a woman. Her eyes had widened, her eyes sparkling when he'd confessed his job, and he hadn't been able to help but remember the day he'd met Bones, when he'd introduced himself as FBI.

She'd regarded him coolly, clearly unimpressed.

But Julia... Julia liked it. She made him feel like his job was that much more impressive, dangerous... sexy. And she followed him to his truck, waiting next to him while he stretched across the seat and tugged his badge from the glove compartment. When he pulled himself from the vehicle, shutting the door, she stepped closer, and he felt goosebumps sweep his body as she stretched up towards him, her hand falling on his chest to press him against his car.

She kissed him, quite wildly. And at the first touch of her mouth to his, it suddenly all returned in a flash. His partner was above him, gasping; below him, her head tossing. And her eyes, her blue, blue eyes flashed a million shades and he gasped himself in surprise, giving Julia an opportunity to sweep his mouth with her tongue.

_Not Bones. _

The perfume he'd caught slight whiffs of in the crowded bar suddenly invaded his nose, strong and overwhelming and far too sweet. Her tongue moved quickly, almost sharply, and she tasted only of the beers she'd had and the faint hint of an earlier cigarette.

_Not Bones, not Bones..._

He couldn't do this. Finally able to respond, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, pulling her off of him, trying to catch his breath. "Julia."

"What?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly. "Too public? We can go to my place."

He could barely speak, and suddenly her perfume, the taste of cigarette and beer and her eyes, not blue at all, made his stomach turn. Nausea flooded him, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, still not understanding, and he felt like an ass - one who was about to vomit. "I - I have to go," he mumbled.

Shocked, she took a step back as he released her, and, unable to drive himself, he left her standing next to his car slack-jawed as he wove his way though the parking lot.

_Jesus Christ._ Was he insane? She was beautiful! And intelligent and _interested. _Hell, she'd been impressed and hot for him, he'd known it. And he'd just walked away, his stomach rolling, like she'd turned into some bridge troll with one fucking kiss.

He dragged his hand through his hair sharply before shoving his hands into his coat pockets. It was at least a forty-five minute walk to his place, but when he reached the corner, he found himself instead heading east, towards a different home.

In a few short minutes, he found himself standing outside his partner's building. He was still somewhat intoxicated, irritated as all hell, and felt like either shooting something or, amazingly, weeping. He was unable to indulge in either, however, since his gun happened to be in his truck and he wasn't about to cry on a street corner like some ridiculous, drunk fool. His crotch felt heavy, like it was operating on memory and he wanted to pull his hair out with frustration. He'd forgotten just how amazing sex with the right person could really be.

There was a faint light from one of her windows. Was she still awake? It wasn't all that late, but he'd known she was exhausted. She'd gotten very little sleep the night before -

_Because you couldn't keep your hands off her, you asshole._

He couldn't stop thinking about it; it was driving him half mad. It was quite obvious, in fact, since he was pacing in front of her building like an idiot. But he had to admit it, he just had to.

_It had been mind-blowing, earth-shattering, cataclysmic. Without a doubt, the absolute _best sex_ he'd ever had._

And he wanted to do it again. And again.

Sadly, it was his best friend and partner - and that just wasn't a fucking option. Their work together was too important, their partnership too successful to throw sex into the mix. And their friendship...

She was the first woman he'd trusted so completely, the first woman he'd allowed to see his weaknesses, the first woman to know his secrets about his years as a sniper. He respected women, he did, and had never assumed them to all be weak, helpless damsels in distress. But Temperance Brennan had rocked his idea of what a woman was, and he wasn't going to just screw all that up for a roll in the hay.

Even a really, _really_ good roll.

Sighing, he glanced up again at her window, tugging his phone from his pocket and dialing.


	21. Chapter 20

**_A/N: um. so. call us crazy, but we're getting sort of this subtle vibe y'all think we're evil or something. i don't know, maybe we're reaching. but see, the thing is, if we just let them be all happy-like, the story would be over. so. keep the faith, or something like that. :) WE still love you, even if you call us meanies._**

* * *

Coffee. Coffee was very, _very _good. She returned to the overstuffed couch with her third cup of the evening, wondering how many more it would take Angela to come around and tell her exactly what was going on. For once, Brennan wasn't being the avoidant one. However, her day at work had appeared to stretch into infinity, the whole thing a blur of white bones and a flurry of questions from people who apparently could not survive a day without her at the lab. Asking Angela for a drink after work had gone against every cell in her body screaming for sleep. When her friend agreed, she steered her far from the bar, and straight to the coffee shop.

Angela was doing some prodding of her own. "So. You still didn't tell me how you managed to break your leg while in the woods with Booth during a therapy exercise."

"It isn't broken," she pointed out. "Only sprained." She had the foot propped up on the couch, now properly wrapped in a bandage.

"Still. What kind of crazy chandelier swinging were you _doing?" _Angela teased her.

"No chandeliers. There _were _several dead mammals mounted on the wall. But nothing to swing from."

"Well. That's a shame." Angela sipped her cappuccino, and glanced over as a woman pushed a stroller past their spot on the couch. The artist gave a smile and a tiny wave to the chubby little creature in the seat; the baby broke into a grin and covered its eyes, feigning shyness. Both women chuckled.

"So how are things with Jack?" Brennan asked, using the distraction as a segue into the new topic. If she let Angela press further into her own activities, she ran the risk of being found out for her illicitness, _and _being here all night long.

"Fine," Angela said carefully. "You know... coming along." After another sip of her drink, she suddenly thrust it out to Brennan. "You need to try this. If you think they make good vanilla cappuccinos, you need to try the caramel ones."

Brennan took the cup and took a small sip. "Sweets calls that 'deflection,'" she told her.

Her friend sighed. "Doesn't Booth say that if you take a close look at Sweets' degree, you'll see it's from preschool?"

"He does say that," Brennan agreed.

Angela fiddled with the plastic top to her cup and looked downwards. "The other night, Jack asked me if I wanted to make an appointment with the doctor to discuss in vitro. Said he wanted to start exploring options."

She opened her mouth to tell her friend how wonderful that was, but the look in her eyes stopped her. She rethought her words. "What did you tell him?" she asked.

"Hmm," Angela considered. "Well. I might have said something to the effect of, 'never bring that up again or I'll have to cut your testicles off.' Not those exact words. But something close."

Brennan's eyes bugged out. Jack was right. Her friend _had _gone insane. "Ange?" she said, hesitantly. "Maybe I got this wrong... but I thought you _wanted _to have children?"

"I did. Before I figured out that the entire topic is like a death knell for my marriage," the artist told her, leaning back against the couch.

"No death knell," she argued. "Things are better now. You said yourself. You have overcome all of that."

"Just _barely. _Sweetie... I wouldn't wish my last few months of marriage on anyone. It got to the point where even a mention of the word 'baby' made my blood pressure go up to dangerous levels. It made Jack this awful, tense person, and made _me _this whiny demanding woman. And I _don't _want to go back there." The heat in her eyes was intense now. "I always wanted to be a parent, Bren. But not at the expense of my marriage. Things are just starting to get better. All I want now is for Jack and I to be enough for each other."

Her head spun, and she didn't know if she felt more sympathy or frustration for Angela. Hodgins was finally opening up, offering Angela what she had wanted all along. And she was turning away from it. Rejecting it. She struggled not to let her exhaustion turn into testiness. "Maybe you just need time."

"I don't think so, Babe. There's a lot that time can heal. But this? This is _in _me now. It's in my head that considering the possibility of having children might lead to losing the love of my life. And I'm not sure that can be undone."

"Ange..." she sighed, but her thought was interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. "Hold on.." Pulling it out, she frowned at the display. "Jesus," she murmured. "I can't deal with this right now." She tucked it back into her purse.

"Who's deflecting now? Who?" her friend teased her.

"Hey," she replied irritably. "I got my agent's call when I got back from our therapy trip. When I'm ready to return to the message, I will."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Anyway..."

"Yes?"

She paused. She had completely forgotten what she was going to say. The mere mention of her and Booth's "therapy trip" had derailed her. She couldn't stay this distracted forever. She _wouldn't._

"I just... I just want to know that you and Hodgins are moving in the right direction. When he called me..."

"Jack _called _you?" her friend exclaimed.

Shit.

"He just thought that you'd benefit from talking to someone else. Someone more objective," she tried.

To her credit, Angela looked slightly annoyed, but not really angry. "Sweetie, I really appreciate your trying to help. But... this baby thing... I don't want to think about it right now. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to have it be a part of my daily life. So... can we drop it? Please?"

Brennan could certainly understand the desire to eradicate a thought from her mind and her heart. Because everything she did today... from her morning shower, to her careful rewrapping of her ankle, to the very sip of coffee she was taking... seemed to pull her back to that cabin. Booth, taking care of her. Booth, talking to her, opening himself up to her. Booth, touching her. Allowing himself to be touched by her.

It was because it had just been yesterday. These memories would fade. They would be okay. _Friends._

"Alright," she agreed. "We don't have to talk about it."

Angela shot her a grateful smile. Her smile in return, however, was forced.

No matter how hard one tried to keep things buried, it seemed like it always came back into focus, eventually.

* * *

As if being slightly intoxicated and having nearly made a very large mistake back in the parking lot hadn't been enough, apparently the weather that had plagued their little woodland adventure wasn't quite done giving.

Because it rained, and he was now huddling inside a convenience store about four blocks from her place, waiting for a ride.

When he saw the black BMW pull up, wipers flashing, he sighed in relief, dashing out with his jacket over his head.

"Dude," Hodgins said when he closed the door, shaking his jacket out. "What are you even _doing_ over here?"

"I was at a bar," he muttered. He was drenched, and he knew he was dripping water all over Jack's leather interior but was too wet and miserable to really apologize.

Jack frowned. "Do you need me to take you to your car, or...?"

Frustrated that he'd have to leave his car overnight, he sighed. "Well, I don't think I can drive. But... I left my gun in my truck. I shouldn't leave that in there overnight."

"Where is it?"

He gave him the address, and Jack pulled smoothly back into traffic. "You're like, four blocks from Brennan's house. Why didn't you just call her? She could have picked you up on her way home or something."

He turned to him slowly. "Home? She's not home?" _He'd debated knocking on her door for over thirty minutes and she wasn't even _home_?_

The scientist glanced at him. "Uh, no. She's with Angela." He paused. "Why, were you on your way to her place?" He chuckled. "Drunk?"

"No," he scowled. "I was just walking home and got caught in the rain."

"Your house is the other direction."

He sighed irritably. "Hodgins, I was walking off the booze, alright?"

Jack was quiet for a minute. "How was the cabin, man?"

"Shut up."

"You guys went at it the whole time, huh?"

He whipped his head around to meet Jack's eyes, his own wide as saucers. "_What?_"

Jack looked stunned by his reaction. "Fighting, dude. I was talking about fighting." He paused at the stoplight. "Did you guys... did you _sleep together?"_

He wiped rainwater from his forehead. "This was a work thing," he snapped, not out-and-out lying but realizing what his answer implied.

Jack looked unconvinced, but he dropped the subject after receiving an additional glare.

Quiet for a moment, he listened to the swish of the windshield wipers. "Why are Angela and Bones out, anyway? It's pretty late."'

Hodgins sighed. "Because my wife is insane."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I thought all she wanted was to get me to consider _options. _And now I _am_, and it's apparently all wrong." He sighed. "I can't win, man."

Booth furrowed his brow. "Hodgins. What are you _talking_ about?"

"I brought up in vitro. And she _freaked._ Like, threatened me if I were to ever bring it up again." He looked grim. "I hate saying sweeping statements like women are crazy, but _women are crazy."_ He paused, sniffing at the air suddenly. "You smell like perfume."

He rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Some woman wanted me to go home with her."

"_Nice. _Was she hot?"

"Yeah," he said dismissively. "Not my type, though. Listen, Hodgins. I don't know what to tell you about Angela. Women are unpredictable - that's all I know."

_But sometimes,_ a small voice nagged, _they're extremely predictable... aren't they? Sometimes you know what they're going to say before they say it - and it's not what you want to hear._

Irritated, he shook his head slightly, and Jack continued to speak. "It just seems like sometimes they say what they _don't_ mean just to throw you, you know? Do they really change their mind about something that huge, just like that? How could she act like that was what she wanted so _desperately_, only to turn around and announce otherwise?"

Booth closed his eyes. "I don't know, Jack."

He heard the concern in his friend's voice. "You sure you're alright, man?"

Sighing, he looked up to see they were stopped next to his truck. "Yeah, sure," he said wearily. "You're just asking for the answer to one of life's biggest mysteries."

He opened his door, stepping outside, realizing that after the rain shower, walk and drive, he was sober. "Listen, I'm good," he said quietly. "I'm fine to drive. Thanks for picking me up, buddy. Really."

Hodgins eyed him warily. "You sure?"

He nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Okay."

Stopping out into the rain, he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, shivering at the cold water streaming into the collar of his jacket. He'd just tugged open his own door when he heard Jack's window roll down, and his friend call out to him.

"And what's that mystery?"

He sighed, feeling cliché and being too tired to care. "What women want, Jack, versus what they say. It's something I've never really been able to figure out - but good luck. And let me know if you uncover some big secret. You're fairly good at that."

* * *

She was more well-rested now, but in an even fouler mood than before, if that was possible. After two days of having to treat her ankle gently (and one day and a morning of having no one to pamper her while she did so... she had to take on the tub on her her own now, thank you very much), being incapacitated was becoming more than just a little annoying. Aside from that, her best friend, who had just given her the first rays of hope that a damaged relationship could begin to heal, was being incredibly confusing to her.

On top of it all, she still couldn't fucking forget. Damn her accurately recording, carefully cataloging brain, which tucked every event of her night in the cabin with Booth into neatly filed memories.

He was to come to the Jeffersonian this morning with some new case files for her. They were to interview a suspect together. Just like the old days. But to add to her awful mood, he was late. _Very _disrespectful, she decided. He wanted to be her friend? Her colleague? Colleagues _respected _one another, and certainly did not keep one another waiting like a last-minute date.

Jack peered in her office. "You ready for me yet, Dr. B?"

"I wish," she muttered. "If Booth would ever come with those damn case files so I could get some background on this victim, we could start the analyses."

"Give him some time," Hodgins said, sweeping in to lay some printouts on Dr. Brennan's desk. "It takes awhile to sleep off a hangover." He made to go out the door.

Her curiosity got the better of her. "Did you go out drinking last night?" she asked before the entomologist could escape. He turned slowly.

"Noooo," he drew out. "Not us. Booth just... had a bad night, I guess." He looked like he was looking for an escape route.

"And you had to go rescue him?" She was trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah. It was kind of weird considering..." he trailed off.

"Considering what?"

Jack hesitated. "I feel like I'm getting him in trouble or something."

"Don't be ridiculous. It sounds like a funny story." She wasn't feeling a single bit of humor.

"He was just a few blocks from your place. I told him he just should've called you. But apparently, it was _me _he had it out for last night. Got my car seat all wet and smelling like beer and Chanel #5."

Her eyebrows probably could not have raised any further off her head.

"Because some woman wanted him to go home with her. At the bar. But he didn't. Because he called me." He was talking faster now, trying to explain, and finally scrubbed a hand across his face. "Damn, I'm gonna be in a world of hurt when he finds out I told you this, aren't I?"

She cocked her head.

"Don't answer that," he said bleakly, waving off anything she might say. "I'm going now." He slunk out the door.

She sat quietly, processing this new information. While she had been trying to help her best friend work out her lingering marriage issues, her partner had apparently been becoming intoxicated and being fondled by a barfly.

Unbidden, fury rose in her.

Yes, they had decided to be friends. Yes, they had decided that their tryst in the woods could not be repeated. But for God's sake. They had just had sex _the night before. _She had performed oral sex on him _that very morning _under the light spray of rain on the front porch of the cabin. And upon finishing his day of work, his first move was to find _another _sex partner?

That was just rude.

Not to _mention_ the fact that when he found himself caught in the rain and unable to drive after his bar-room interlude, instead of calling her to help him (like a _friend_; because that's what _friends did_), he called Jack, with whom he was obviously uncomfortable most of the time, and he had most certainly not give multiple orgasms to just hours beforehand.

She had made her decision about the future of the their relationship with the understanding that their friendship would remain unaffected. That's what she had been so desperately trying to preserve. And now, she finds out that she was not even enough of a friend to be a designated driver? Never mind the fact that she hadn't been home at the time. It was the principle of the thing. He should have called her first.

As if on cue, her partner wandered in her office, heavy circles under his eyes, files under his arms. Her eyes narrowed at him.

"I know, I know, I'm late," he said tiredly, entering and dropping the papers on her desk. "I overslept. Sorry."

"Long night?" she asked sarcastically.

He had dropped down to her couch, and was just getting cued in to her bad mood.

"Maybe. Heard you had one too," he said, an edge to his voice.

"Yes. I was trying to help my friend. And I'm sure _you _were just as productive."

He frowned. "Hate to say it Bones. But your attitude kind of stinks today."

Pulling the file she needed from the pile, she swept her own report off the desk and dropped it in his lap along the way.

"Can't stink worse than Chanel #5," she muttered. "I'll see you in therapy," she said without turning to face him as she stalked out the door.

* * *

Un-_fucking_ believable.

Irritated as all hell, he swung the wheel of his truck to the left, making his way through the streets towards Sweets' office. A quick glance at the dashboard said unless he put on his siren, he was going to be late meeting her for the second time that day - and he wasn't in the mood for any more of her attitude. Despite the fact that it was entirely inappropriate, he reached up and slapped it on, slamming on the gas as he made his way though traffic. It was almost like Moses parting the Red Sea when he turned that thing on, and it left an unobstructed path for him to make his way quickly through downtown in under five minutes.

Peeling into the parking lot, he slammed on the break and jumped out of the car, stalking into the lobby and punching the elevator button. She had serious nerve. What the hell was her _problem_, anyway? They weren't _together._ She'd made that perfectly clear yesterday. And wasn't like he'd taken Julia home - he hadn't even kissed her back for pete's sake!

The elevator wasn't moving.

"_Bloody hell,_" he muttered, turning and heading for the stairs, taking them two at a time up several flights. Her snarky behavior this morning had made his already pounding head only ache further, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why. It had been jealousy on her face - of that he was certain. But she'd made it clear that she didn't want anything more than friendship from him. And _she_ certainly dated.

As he burst into the lobby, his breath heaving, his eyes fell on her sitting on the couch, her legs crossed as she flipped primly through a magazine. She didn't even bother to look up. "You're late."

He walked over to stand next to her, his hands on his hips, waiting for her to look at him, but she simply turned the page. Attitude _and _the silent treatment?

He snapped the magazine out of her hands, tossing it onto the coffee table. "You want to tell me what your _problem_ is today?"

She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. "I'm a busy person, Booth. I don't like to be kept waiting, and you seem to have no problem doing that today."

His jaw clenched. "Bones, I'm _so, so_ sorry to have wasted -" He checked his watch. "_Three and a half minutes_ of your time, but I was interviewing a witness." He returned his hands to his hips. "Grow up."

She stood up, her body only an inch or two from his. "Grow _up?_ You kept me waiting for forty minutes this morning! And _not_ because of work - because you overslept after staying out all hours drinking and picking up women!"

_"Excuse me?_" he thundered, and the secretary glanced up from her office across the hall. "She hit on _me._ And I said _no, _okay? Not that it's any of your business."

"No, no, of course not," she shot back. "I mean, what am I, right? Just a friend you call for rides. Oh, wait... No. You don't. You call _Hodgins_, even when you're only a few blocks from my damn _house._"

"Did he file a _report_, or something?" he swore. "How do you even know all this, anyway?"

She smirked at him, and he felt his temper reach near boiling. "What does it even matter, huh? It's not like you might have been _tired_ or anything, or _maybe_," she said, lowering her voice "had enough _sex _for one day. What does it mater that I know you went out to a bar and nearly went home with some barfly?"

She suddenly reached down, snapped up her magazine from the table, and dropped back into the couch, her anger all but disappearing to the outside observer. "I think we should tell Sweets that Angela's not making sense again."

He tried to grab the magazine again, and as she yanked it out of his reach, he caught her wrist instead.

"_Let go_," she hissed. "I'm not in the mood."

His stomach flip-flopped, a mixture of fury and fear flooding through him. She was livid, and while he'd picked up on the jealousy loud and clear, she was also making him feel like he'd somehow betrayed their _friendship_ by calling Jack. And it hadn't even occurred to him how she'd see him going home with someone so quickly after being with her. He hadn't - hell, he never would have been able to go through with it, but still.

Maybe she didn't know that.

He let go of her wrist, swallowing. "No problem," he said bitterly. He heard the door to Sweets' office open, and he turned his back on her. "Let's get this over with."


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N: Yeeees, we are mean, we are horrible, blah, blah, blah. We love you too:)**

**For reals. We would love to respond to each and every one of you each and every time, but we have been doing our best to devote most all free fanfic time to writing this story and getting the chaps to you quickly. Just to set the record straight, we love and appreciate every one of your thoughtful comments. Thank you from the bottom of our shippy little hearts.**

**On with the show.**

* * *

He was about sick of their shit.

No, there was no "about" about it. He was _definitely _sick of this, them coming in, avoiding eye contact, talking about irrelevant topics in their cool, 'don't ask me any questions' tone. And it made him _nuts _when his carefully-prepared therapeutic exercises were a bust.

It was time to get serious.

"Angela and Hodgins are having difficulties again," Brennan told him coolly, crossing her wrapped leg over her good one. "I think it's important for us to discuss..."

"That won't be necessary," Sweets informed them. "Dr. and Mrs. Hodgins have made other arrangements to address their difficulties. Discussing them here would just be redundant."

His clients' eyes widened in unison. "They're still coming to therapy?" Booth asked.

"I'm not privileged to reveal that information."

Those wide eyes narrowed now. He had interfered with their game plan. Good.

"I want to talk about your sensate focus exercise," Sweets continued. "You told me that it had been successful. But yet, I have yet to see improvement in your communication or ability to relate to one another. I'd like for you to explore what makes this difficult for you."

"Sweets, we did what you asked. We took a day off work, we stayed in your little shack, we talked about our lives. Just... let it go, okay?" the man across from him said tensely, rolling his shoulders in a gesture that didn't appear to give him any relief at all.

"When things don't work, it's beneficial to explore the reasons why, so we don't make those mistakes again."

He got an immediate response from Agent Booth. "You want to know why? What's wrong with your little experiment? Let me tell you something about the real world, kid. The real world has electricity. The real world has bandages for when you hurt your leg, and cars to drive you to safety when you get hurt. The real world has work responsibilities, and tomorrows, and consequences for when you fuck up. And going to some hole in the fucking wilderness to pretend all those things aren't true isn't helpful when there is a real _life _to go back to at the end of the day. It's not like we can just be like, "Oh, the work pressures are really getting to us. Let's take a trip to the woods" every 5 minutes. _This _is us, _this _is life, and you might as well start to deal with it."

The man was breathing slightly heavy after his rant, and a familiar sense of intimidation filled the young psychologist_. Keep your cool, big L. He won't shoot you with a witness here._

"You want me to deal with it because you can't?" he asked, much more calmly than he felt.

The gleam in Booth's eyes was murderous. This confrontation business was always Sweets' least favorite part of this job. Even Brennan seemed slightly alarmed now, glancing over at her partner with a concerned look on her face. Seemingly instinctively, she reached out and placed a warning hand on Booth's arm. At her touch, he seemed briefly disarmed, looking down at her fingers, losing focus on the object of his rage.

Sweets took this opportunity to diffuse the situation. "I think that _you _both misread my intentions here. Dr. Brennan, what do you imagine that I want for you? What my motivations are in all these exercises?"

He could see the cogs in her mind turning, searching for the right answer. Her foot tapped nervously, and her hand dropped back to her side. "I think... you must want us to find some sort of common ground. Some level on which we can meet to do our work, so our differences won't be so apparent, and cause so much friction." She looked anxious to be out of the spotlight.

"Agent Booth?" he asked her seething partner.

"I think you must want us to fucking explode."

Hmm. Interesting how Agent Booth's metaphor was so close to what Sweets had imagined for the two if they _didn't _continue with therapy.

"Good guesses. But wrong. The only thing I'm interested in his giving you an outlet. You are both passionate people. Your devotion to your work, and your friends, and each other is strong. It creates a powerful dynamic that takes a lot of energy and effort and pure will to maintain. If you allow the tension it creates to keep growing, and growing, and growing... the incendiary potential is enormous. All we are doing with the sensate focus is adding a release valve to that process."

His clients shifted uncomfortably in their couch. He smiled. He _loved_ sounding smart.

"It takes practice. That's why I gave you 24 hours with no distractions the first time. But eventually, I'm hoping that you can decrease the time it takes to decompress. Finding it in the little moments between all your hard work, all the stressors. If you can do that, the friction won't reach this level where it is impairing your work."

They sat silently. Of course, they had nothing to say. How could they argue with his logic? It was flawless.

Brennan slowly turned her head and looked upwards toward her partner. Her question was directed towards him, and him only. "Why didn't you call me last night?"

"You weren't even there."

"You didn't know that. Did you just give me your 'friends' bullshit to placate me?"

Sweets had no idea what they were talking about. But he couldn't take his eyes away.

"_My '_friends' bullshit? Oh, no. Don't pretend like I was in charge of that. That was you, too, baby. You were _right there."_

Brennan looked traumatized at the venom with which he referred to her; the look was quickly replaced by a stony cold exterior. "You'll have to excuse my mistake, Agent Booth," she said coldly. "When you agreed that you were my friend and partner... and _always _would be... it sounded like a promise. It hadn't occurred to me that you were a man who didn't keep your promises."

The young therapist had gotten it wrong. It was _he _who was going to explode with the pressure that was growing in the room from each side. For a brief moment, he regretted not joining them in their defense, letting them keep it close to them, as it was so obviously important to maintaining their sense of stability. "Now's the time to use what you learned, guys," he told them softly. "Here and now. How are you feeling?"

Their glares at each other never broke. Booth spoke quietly. Dangerously. "You can't _handle _what I feel," he told the woman with the icy eyes.

Before she could respond..._ if _she were going to respond... her partner stood and walked to the door. "Don't plan on seeing me again, Sweets. I think I've had all the therapy I can handle.

Sweets watched as Booth did something he would have pegged as completely unnatural for him. He walked away.

* * *

He was under his sink, half inside the cabinet. A wrench was in his hands, and he was squinting at the pipe that had started leaking for no reason - just another fucking thing that was apparently going to go wrong today. It figured.

Tossing the wrench he was holding to the side and wiping his brow, he reached for the washer he'd set next to him when a pile of material landed in his lap. Frowning, he pulled himself from under the sink, and met the flashing, angry eyes of his partner.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he muttered.

"Those are yours; you left them at my place," she said, pointing at the sweatshirts in his lap.

"And you thought I needed them now?" he sneered. Gesturing to the sleeveless tank he was wearing, he smiled. "Not exactly cold, baby."

"Don't call me that," she said icily. "And I was doing some cleaning. I didn't feel like looking at them anymore."

He tossed them to his side, sliding back under the sink. "You know, you got a real bad habit of just letting yourself in my house. You heard of knocking?"

Something else fell in his lap, and he slowly pulled himself back from the cabinet, holding up a shining, silver key.

"You can have that back, too," she said flatly.

Her gaze was ice blue, her jaw set tightly. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on hers the entire time, and he took a step closer. "Fine by me. You want yours back?"

"Yes, thank you," she said politely, her eyes anything but. "I can't think of any reason it's necessary that you have it."

He pushed past her, his shoulder grazing hers as he stalked towards the entryway of his house where his key-chain sat. His muscles were coiled tightly, his fingers twitching. He was so angry he wanted to send the vase he passed flying into the wall - he had no doubt that the glass shattering would be highly satisfying. Still, despite how furious he was, he didn't want to scare her.

He snatched the keys up from their dish by the door, wrenching the key from the ring. "Here," he said, tossing it in the air.

She caught it, holding it in her hand for a moment before flinging it on the table next to her. "Just so you know, I think what you did today was extremely childish."

He nearly exploded. _"Childish?" _He took a step closer. "Who threw a total snit in the waiting room? You want to talk about childish, lady -"

"You walked out of a mandated therapy session," she shot back. "What do you think he's going to do now, huh? I can only imagine what he'll recommend to the bureau!"

"What do _you_ care?" he shouted. "Do you even _want_ to be my partner, Bones?" He stepped even closer, only an inch between them. "Huh?" he taunted softly. "Because apparently, I don't follow through, I don't keep my word, right? What kind of partner could I possibly _be?_"

She practically seethed with her anger. Meeting his eyes, she narrowed hers. "You know as well as I do that what we do is important, you jerk. It's bigger than a stupid argument."

"Oh, I don't think this is stupid," he said quietly, his voice holding steady. "I think it's very serious, actually."

She stood her ground, not seeming the slightest bit intimidated, and he had to, despite his fury, admire her for that. Unbelievably, he was having another reaction as well as he looked at her.

_He was turned on._

Whether it be with desire or anger, her passion boiled hotly, and he felt his crotch tighten painfully as she stood in front of him, her chest heaving, her eyes wild. He didn't think he'd even been so furious with her, or hurt. What she'd said in therapy... it had cut deeply and sharply. Because while he'd always struggled with his complicated feelings, he'd always strived to treat her fairly and to be an honest, good cop. And that included keeping his word.

"Yeah, I do too," she swore, her back ram-rod straight. "I thought your promises meant something!"

She was goading him again, just like always, and it only infuriated him further, so much so that he closed the last inch between them, their chests touching as he dipped his head closer. "You want to say that to me again?"

Surprisingly, she hesitated. For a second her eyes flickered to his mouth, and when her gaze finally met his again, he could see it there - the spark. As angry as _she_ was, she was hot, too - it was in her eyes.

"You made me a promise," she whispered.

"I _am_ your friend, goddamn it!"

Instead of snapping back at him, she tilted up on her toes, her mouth moving next to his ear, her breath making him shiver. "That's not the promise I'm talking about."

He yanked back, his eyes sweeping her face, unsure whether he'd misunderstood. Trembling with anger and sexual energy, he grabbed her chin. "What promise?" he asked harshly.

Her eyes narrowed, and her realized she was still as pissed off as he was, no matter what else might be brewing between them. She looked at him with challenge on her face.

"_A promise you made to me in the woods._"

The moment hung for several moments, the only sound in the room their labored breathing. God, after everything today, she wanted...

_Yes, no... Yes, no..._

And then she let her eyes again drop to his mouth, the tip of her tongue snaking out to make her lower lip gleam, and he just let go of it all. _Sensate focus._

He dipped down, and before she could even open her mouth to respond, he had grabbed her around the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder, moving quickly towards his bedroom.

"_Booth_!" she yelped, her hands clawing at the white cotton covering his back. He didn't slow down in the least, and when he finally kicked the door open to his room, he dropped her unceremoniously onto the pile of covers that he hadn't made up in his haste that morning.

She met him with a look of surprise, but it was still there - the spark in her eyes. "I keep my word," he said, his voice low, crawling towards her as she propped herself up on her elbows. "You better believe it, baby."

She thrust her chin out, as if upping the ante. "Good."

He tapped gently on a spot on her elbow, causing her to lose her balance and drop back onto the mattress, and he followed her down, his tongue immediately in her mouth as he fought the swirl of thoughts flying though his head.

_Oh, god. What was he _doing_?"_

He was keeping his promise.

* * *

She had thought to herself that Angela was insane. But later, she couldn't think of any good reason why she herself had deviated from her very logical, very rational plan. Drop Booth's things off. Make her point. Leave.

Nowhere in that plan was the step "get ravished by your mad-as-hell partner" included. But somehow, that is _exactly _what she provoked.

His sheets smelled like him. As soon as she hit them, the smell of his soap and his cologne entered her senses upon her sharp intake of breath. He was hovering over her, a predatory gleam in his eye, and heady desire filled her up, pooling in her belly. It had been not even two full days. But her body remembered what her mind had tried to forget. She was hungry for him. And as his tongue plundered her mouth once more, part of her nearly cried in relief.

"You thought I'd forget that?" he growled, ripping his mouth from her and straddling her waist, pulling up the hem of her shirt. She put her arms up so that he could remove it easily, flinging it with force across the room. Immediately, he lowered his head to her exposed skin, sucking at the flesh right above her bra. "You thought I wouldn't remember how all those losers couldn't get you off, but my mouth touched you and you were seconds away from coming against my tongue? Me, Temperance. _Me."_

He was being such a cocky ass, and she would have been pissed as all hell if he hadn't been so painfully right, if her sex hadn't already started to throb deeply at the attentions of his mouth on the swell of her breasts. "You haven't done it yet," she gasped, fingers plucking at his white undershirt, wanting to feel all that muscled flesh under her hands again. "But you're so fucking sure of yourself."

"You bet your ass I am." As soon as her pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, his hands were thrust into them, into her panties, squeezing the cheeks of her ass while he pulled them off together. Those garments ended up somewhere else in the room. She didn't care what happened to them. Toss them, tear them, burn them. She just needed to feel his lips on her bare flesh.

"Is this what you were gonna do? With that woman in the bar?" she taunted, her last word ending on a moan as he pulled the cups of her breasts down and squeezed her nipples while he kissed her stomach. How did he know _exactly _how to do that? Her chest arched up off the bed.

His teeth nipped her flesh at her words, a warning, and she hissed. He squeezed at her breasts again. "It would have driven you crazy, wouldn't it?," he growled, one hand lowering to capture her knee, spreading her open on the bed. "Thinking about me touching her. Thinking about her screaming my name..."

"Thinking about you wishing I was the one screaming it..." she couldn't resist. Now _she _was being the cocky one, but she was getting so hot now she could barely stand it. She wanted to provoke him into tasting her. Into taking her.

"I don't have to wish anything, baby," he groaned as he lips first pressed against the core of her, giving her no more then a teasing kiss, repeated a few times, making her jerk helplessly.

_"Fuck, _Booth..."

"One thing at a time. I wouldn't want to go back on my promise." His tongue ran a gentle circle around her pulsing clit while she cursed, her fingers clutching at the sheets and the back of his head.

His mouth was hot and wet against her, hard and soft and confident and skillful and strong and _Booth. _Each time she became accustomed to the rhythm he was setting for her, he switched it, teasing her with a fluttering touch, or long licks, or tiny swirls that made her feel like she was going crazy. When he slid his fingers inside of her, she let out a choked sob, thrusting against his face with the force of all her anger and lust and frustration. Part of her wanted to grab him by the hair and tear him away; this was too intense, too crazy, she was feeling too out of control. But a slight tug at him only made more earnest in his efforts. She felt vibrations against her, and knew he was moaning into her.

_Wanting this as much as she did._

She couldn't help it. Part of her _wanted _to help it, to not give him the satisfaction of getting exactly the result he promised. But her head was spinning, every fucking erogenous zone in her body on high alert, thrumming, and with a massive rush, her orgasm was as much a part of her as her limbs, her senses, her mind, or her heart. She cried out (his name, infuriatingly...it was ripped from her lips almost unwillingly), feeling for the first time the gentle nursing of his mouth that prolonged her shivers until she fell into a limp pile on his sheets...the ones that smelled like him. That now smelled like her, too.

Part of her wanted to cry. It had taken only two days to lose this battle. She was weak. She was weak, and he had won.

He was kissing her, sliding his lips up her shining body. When his face reached hers, she dreaded looking at him, expecting to see his smug, self-satisfied look. Which he had earned, in all fairness. She would have never guessed that when she opened her eyes, she'd see what she did.

He was trembling, his eyes glistening. Gone was the anger that had been there previously. If she had not known him better, she'd wonder if he were about to cry. "Jesus, Temperance. _I've missed you so much."_

His tenderness rocked her as much as her climax had, and suddenly it was she whose eyes felt dewy. She pulled his face to hers so he wouldn't see the tears forming, kissing her own taste from his lips urgently, whispering gentle 'please's' into his mouth. She did not stop kissing him until long after his pants were pushed aside, and he was inside her, and the bodies rose and fell together once more, shaking, then relenting to one another.

She refused to release him, letting their bodies linger together for as long as they could. She whispered her admission into his ear. "You're right. I don't think I _can_ handle it."

He sighed back his understanding. "It's alright, baby. You aren't the only one. You never were."


	23. Chapter 22

**_A/N: okays. just would like to point out onnneee little thing, you guys. um. "angst"? it's listed as one of the genres for this story. so sorry to the people who keep saying they don't like it, but we kind of planned on this stuff. you'll just have to ride it out. you should just trust us... we won't do you wrong, we swear. :)_**

* * *

He didn't want to let go of her. The air around them seemed cold, and her body was still flooding him with warmth. Still, he was probably crushing her. Lifting himself slowly, he pulled himself from her body, about to roll over, but she protested, her arms still clinging to him.

Holding her tightly against him, he pulled himself onto his back so that she was the one on top of him. She shivered slightly as her bare back and legs were exposed, and he tugged the sheets up around them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered suddenly, her face tucked into his neck, her voice muffled.

"For what?" he murmured, tightening an arm around her waist.

She seemed hesitant. "For what I said," she said quietly, tucking into him. "I didn't mean it."

He rubbed slow circles on her back. "Which thing?" he chuckled. "That I'm a jerk?"

She didn't lift her head, but he knew she smiled. "No, that I meant."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well, I probably deserved it."

She didn't respond, and paused again. "I'm sorry I said you don't keep your promises. That's not true at all."

For a second he considered teasing her about the promise he'd just clearly kept, but he recognized she was struggling with her apology, and found her admission only made his heart skip a beat.

"I'm sorry I walked out," he said quietly. "I hope you know I wasn't..." He tipped her chin up, and he finally met her eyes. "I wasn't walking out on you - just the argument. You know that, right?"

She nodded slowly, but for a second he thought he saw a glimmer of doubt in her eyes. He brushed her hair off her forehead, his fingertips tugging lightly on the strands. "Bones... I hate fighting with you. Bickering is one thing, but fighting with you - I feel terrible afterward."

She sighed, rolling from him finally, but remaining close, her hand coming to rest on his chest, staying connected. "I do too."

He swallowed, propping himself up on an elbow above her, the tops of her breasts still visible in the tangle of sheets, and he gave her an impish grin. "Well, I guess we found our release valve, huh?"

She laughed in surprise, her eyes suddenly twinkling. "Sex?"

He dropped a kiss to her shoulder, unable to help himself. "I was kidding," he murmured. "I don't think this is what Sweets had in mind."

Her fingers curled into his hair as he moved to her neck, his lips leaving a damp trail. "But it worked, I suppose."

He pulled back in surprise, meeting her eyes. "You're joking."

Shrugging, she looked at him seriously. "Well, it clearly diffused our argument."

He shook his head in astonishment. "You're suggesting we have sex to keep from killing one another and being split up by the bureau - _regularly?_"

"Well, just before therapy," she reasoned. "It might... relieve some of the tension."

He flopped onto his back in amazement. "Bones, that's insane. We decided we weren't going to do this anymore." He rubbed his eyes, his brain having trouble reasoning this out. "Which, clearly we had problems sticking to."

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, a move he found to be utterly sexy, and this time she leaned up over him, her hair tumbling down her bare back. "We're clearly just very sexually compatible." She seemed to consider this. "Angela's been telling me for years that we have a lot of sexual tension."

"You can say that again," he muttered. "But Bones, I'm just not sure that -"

She suddenly leaned down, dragging the flat of her tongue across his chest over his nipple, and his words caught in his throat. "Oh, god."

"What was that?" she murmured.

"I just... Jesus. How am I supposed to think with you doing that?"

She took it a step further, tossing a leg up and over him until she was straddling his hips. "Who says everything has to change, Booth? We can still work together, we can still be friends. We'll just..."

"Just what?" he asked incredulously. "Be friends who, instead of going to get a drink or having dinner, go home and have wild, crazy sex before going to _couple's therapy?"_ He gripped her hips to hold her still. "Do you realize how that sounds?"

She dipped down, her breasts swaying gently. "You have a better idea?"

He sighed. "God, I don't know."

Sighing, she pulled herself off of him, climbing off of the bed and searching for her underwear, pulling them on. "Neither do I," she said, her back to him as she pulled on her bra. The sight of her dressing was more upsetting than he had expected, and her realized he desperately wanted her to stay, to stay with him.

She turned around to look at him for a moment, her eyes grave, and his heart thumped at the sight of her standing before him. When she swiveled around again to search for her pants, he suddenly jumped up, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling he back against his naked body. "Don't go," he murmured next to her ear.

She shivered, not fighting him. "But you said -"

"I'm an idiot," he muttered, putting his hands on the flare of her hips, pulling her into him tightly, and she pressed back, pulling a groan from his lips. "I just thought we should think about this for a minute."

"Rationally?" she teased.

"Nothing about this is rational," he said huskily, trailing a large hand up to palm her breast. "Nothing."

She sucked in a breath. "So you need to... think about this first?"

"Maybe," he murmured, pulling her earlobe into his mouth, enjoying the shiver that ran through her. "You know where I do my best thinking?"

She shook her head slowly.

"The shower."

She burst out with a beautiful laugh, and he spun her around in his arms, backing her towards his bathroom, kissing her between words and laughter.

* * *

"Babe, did you set up the coffeemaker for tomorrow?" a voice came floating down the stairs.

In return, he got an exasperated sigh. "Nooooo. I didn't know whether you wanted the Almond Toffee or the Cinnamon Nut."

There was a pause. "You know, it's okay for you to make a decision about that. I'm not going to fall apart if you pick the wrong coffee."

Angela's voice had an edge to it. "Just trying to be nice, Sweetie. If you'd like, I will come up and pick a coffee. If you don't feel like that's something you want to do."

There was the sound of grumbling. "Never mind. I'll get it."

Brennan glanced over at her friend, uncertain whether to be amused or worried by the display. Angela was shaking her head.

"I swear. The man will do anything to avoid having to make a decision himself."

They were sitting in the basement, which had been converted into a theater, the screen taking up the entirety of the front wall, and the projector mounted on the ceiling. Lounging on the large, soft couch with the lights dimmed, watching _Casablanca, _Brennan had to admit that watching completely unrealistic love stories was made somewhat more tolerable in this luxe, private setting.

"You should be nicer to him," she scolded Angela softly. "He seems to be really trying."

"Trying to what? Drive me crazy?" Angela gave her a lopsided grin. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"You _know _I'm on both of your sides."

"Then why aren't you up there telling him to be more understanding when I tell him I will emasculate him if he brings up adoption again?"

Brennan eyebrows went up. "You're giving him a hard time about _adoption, _now?"

Her friend shrugged.

"Ange, there has to be a rational solution to all of this. One that does not involve castration. The two of you just need to work together to find it."

The artist smirked. "Okay, Miss Rational. Maybe Jack and I need to spend some time with your _listening stick."_

Angela was never going to let her live that one down. That particularly failed experiment was going to live on in infamy. Her face colored. "That was just one of a set of successive approximations until Booth and I found a workable solution for our problems. Sometimes, you have to make a lot of errors before you arrive at the answer."

Holding a pillow to her her stomach, her friend gave her a look. "You know, I liked it better when I was the advice-giver in this friendship."

Brennan smiled lightly. She _had _been uncharacteristically full of ideas about relationships lately, and she could see where Angela would find that somewhat disconcerting.

"So what was it?"

"Huh?" She tore her eyes from the large screen.

"You said you found a solution. That's news to me."

"Oh." She returned her attention to the movie. "Well, we determined that friction from our professional and personal differences grows throughout the week, and then are especially stirred up and made salient during therapy. So as an outlet, we are going to have sex before therapy sessions."

Her friend was silent for so long that she almost thought that perhaps she had become reengaged in the story and had decided to ignore her. Then, the screen went blue and the sound turned off. Brennan turned indignantly and saw Angela poised there with the remote in her hand.

"Hey! I was watching that."

"Not anymore. You can't joke around like that."

"Because I joke around _so _often. I'm serious, Ange. It's a practical solution. We have found ourselves much calmer and better able to communicate after having sexual intercourse. It only makes sense to use that to our advantage to help our work."

She was certain she had never seen her friend's eyes bug out quite so far from her head as they were now. "You are having sex. Before therapy. To help with work."

"Yes. That's correct." She made a move to snatch back the remote to turn the movie back on, but Angela dodged her. "C'mon, Ange. This isn't a big deal."

"Sweetie. You know I love you. And Booth, two. You are two of my dearest friends. But it concerns me that you've obviously developed some sort of psychotic disorder. A folie a deux of some kind. A hopefully temporary insanity that is making you think that this is somehow a good idea."

"You are being dramatic," Brennan pointed out. "Neither I nor Booth have symptoms of that kind of disorder." Now, she was just annoyed that she had brought it up. "Besides, I must point out that _you _have always been in favor of me having a sexual relationship with Booth. And now, I start one, and you call me crazy."

"Yes. A sexual _relationship_. Not a sexual arrangement. The 'relationship' part is important." Angela had hauled herself up onto her knees and was leaning forward intently, as if trying to propel good sense into her friend.

"We _already _have a relationship, Angela. A friendship, and a partnership. The sex just... makes the rest flow better."

"_No_." She was so forceful that Brennan had to lean back. "It just keeps you from having to deal with the _real issue."_

Now she was just getting annoyed. "You're sounding like Sweets now. And that's _not _a good thing."

"Maybe you need Sweets more than you think."

"And you are also sounding a bit hypocritical."

Angela's eyes widened ever further. "_Excuse _me?"

"Just because you've decided that Jack's not allowed to mention having children, doesn't mean that it stops being a problem for the two of you."

"Ooooh no. You aren't going to turn this around on me! Pretending it is _us _who have problems and not you and Booth."

"Pretending?" She scowled. "I don't know what you're talking about." She was now fully regretting even mentioning their 'solution' to Angela. It hadn't occurred to her that her friend wouldn't be pleased.

"Don't play dumb with me, missy. I know the only reason you invited Jack and I to 'consult' in your therapy in the first place was so we could learn from from your oh so shining example. You're not exactly a good liar."

Her face flushed. "I resent your implication."

Angela looked fairly worked up herself. "Well I resent being called a hypocrite. And I _also_ resent you disrespecting your relationship with Booth by turning him into a glorified fuck buddy."

She couldn't handle it anymore. She really, literally felt like she was going to scream at her friend should she continue. Standing, she tossed the cushion she had been holding onto the couch. "Angela, I am leaving now because I don't want to yell at you."

"Fine," her friend huffed. "You do that."

"We'll talk later," she endeavored to say in a controlled voice as she headed for the stairs.

"Will we?" Angela's voice followed her. "Or will you just walk away from _these _hard feelings, too?"

She didn't turn back.

* * *

"The mineral content in this soil sample is peculiar."

He looked up to see Jack standing in front of him, a frown on his face as he studied a report. Sighing, he shifted his weight where he was leaning against the counter, waiting for Bones to finish a call in her office.

Ignoring the report, he crossed his arms across his chest. "Why'd you tell Bones about Julia?"

Hodgins blinked. "Who's Julia?"

"The woman from the _bar, _Jack."

"Oh, her."

"Yeah, _her,_" he said irritably.

"Sorry, dude. Dr. Brennan was all pissy that you were late - I thought I was helping you out."

"By telling her I almost went home with someone else?"

Jack paused, studying home. "What do you mean by 'someone else'?" He cocked his head to the side. "I thought you said you two weren't -"

"We're not," he said sharply. "That's not what I meant."

"Dude, just give it up already. I may be a scientist, but I'm not socially retarded."

Grabbing Jack's arm, he hauled him down the steps and around the corner, where it was more private. "Could you _not_ talk that loudly?"

Jack just grinned. "Oh, _man._"

Cursing under his breath, he narrowed his eyes, realizing he was busted. "Look, it was just one time."

Hodgins raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. _Twice,_" he whispered tersely. "But no one else needs to _know that, _got it?"

Hodgins could not seem to control his grin. "You slept with Brennan, dude."

He scrubbed his face with his hands. "Jack, shut up. Listen, it just... it's part of therapy."

His friend exploded into laughter. "_What?_"

He was getting annoyed - and quickly. "Look, Sweets told us to find a... release valve."

Jack snorted, attempting to catch his breath. "That is the best excuse for screwing someone I have _ever _heard. Therapy?"

"Shut up," he repeated. "It's working, alright? If we don't..."

"Have sex?" Jack offered, laughing.

"Whatever. If we don't, we're really tense and fight all the time. We found a solution - it works."

He wasn't sure entirely who he was trying to convince - himself or Jack.

"For what, two days? And then what?"

He sighed. "I'm not discussing this with you."

Surprisingly, Jack didn't laugh at his comment, or smirk. His expression sobered, and he crossed his arms across his chest, looking him up and down. "Oh, yeah? Then who _are_ you going to discuss it with, then?"

"I don't _need_ to discuss it with anyone, for fuck's sake."

The scientist took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Booth, you're kidding yourself. If you think you two can just sit around and pretend what's going on is just a 'release valve' or whatever, it's going to blow up in your face. You know this will never work - you care too much about her. It's so obvious that you -"

"Just drop it."

"You think it's a secret? How you feel about her?"

He stiffened. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Jack shook his head. "Whatever, man. You guys have been dancing for too long. You can't just live in some fantasy world where you can just be friends and screw on the side without it getting complicated. Honesty is the only way to go."

Irked beyond reason, Booth sets his hands on his hips. "Oh, _you_ should talk."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Like you and Angela are just being open about everything? You told me she's acting insane, and you're tiptoeing around her so you don't rock the boat! How is that any different?"

Sighing, the scientist put his own hands on his hips. "At least I didn't _lie_ to get my friends into therapy."

His face turned bright red. _Shit._ "That's not what we did."

Jack slapped the report he still held in his hand against his chest, handing it off. "Whatever. Do what you want. Sleep with her all you want and say it's a 'release valve'. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he stalked off, leaving a stunned Booth holding a report he had no clue how to interpret.

* * *

"You see anything yet?"

"I just got under here, Bones. Give me some time."

She stood on the cement of the parking lot, the heat practically visible as it rose from the ground in waves. She fanned herself with one hand and peered at the two jeaned legs emerging from the bottom of her vehicle. "I was just about to call the mechanic to make an appointment. You don't have to do this."

"Under here already," he grunted. "Might as well finish what I started."

There was no doubt in her mind that he would. He would stay under there all night if he had to. Still, she was feeling a little off her game with him being here. She had not expected him. So she hadn't steeled herself for her reactions. "Thanks for bringing my shirt over," she said again, nervously.

"No problem. Shows you how long it takes me to unpack, huh? Just found it there in my suitcase. Couldn't see any reasons why you'd need to have a shirt at my place. Right?" There was a metallic grinding sound coming from under the car while he worked something loose with the wrench.

"Right." Right, right, right. No reason at all for them to have each other's clothes.

"I'm actually surprised you're here. I heard Angela say earlier this week that she invited you over to the pool at the Hodgins Estate this weekend." He said the last words with a pompous British accent. "It'd be a good day for it."

"Well." She eased herself down on the curb, finding it hard to take her eyes off the long, muscular parts of his body that were not covered by the car. At least he couldn't see her staring. "Angela isn't exactly happy with me at the moment. Nor I with her."

"I see."

She expected him to ask why, but his statement had an air of knowingness to it.

"You told her, didn't you."

The man wasn't stupid. "She doesn't understand how necessary it is to function properly on our job. I don't think she trusts our ability to compartmentalize." It had to be at least 85 degrees out here. A bead of sweat dripped down her neck and made a move down towards the crease between her breasts. She wiped it away.

"She'll come around. Ya know, we're unconventional people. We need unconventional therapy techniques. Okay, let me give something a try."

She saw his hands grip the bottoms of the car, and with a push he wheeled himself out. The air in her lungs seemed to grow even more unbearably hot as she watched the muscles of his arms bulge and flex with the movement. Jesus. It was getting to the point where that white undershirt alone could start to get her a little flushed. _Not a therapy day, Temperance. Tuesday. Wait until Tuesday._

He adjusted something under the hood. "Okay. Turn the engine."

Hurrying behind the wheel, she turned the key. It made a different strange sound than before. Still strange.

"Shit," he muttered. Assuming his original position, he half-disappeared under the car. "Angela'll get over it, Bones. What's important is that we find something that works for us."

"And we did." _Two days. It had been two days since she had been naked with him, the cool tile of his shower wall pressing against her stiff nipples while his hands caught at her hips, the spray becoming cooler and cooler the more heated her flesh became, one of his hands dragging around to stroke her clit while he pounded her from behind. He had sworn on a groan and called her baby and filled her hotly while the water finally became icy, shocking her system into orgasm..._

_"..._again."

"What?" How long had she been remembering? He had pulled himself out from under the car again, black grease now staining the pure white of his shirt, smearing his shoulders and hands. _Why is that so fucking hot? _Temperance Brennan firmly believed that smart was sexy. But the pulsing between her thighs was certainly not a reaction to his brain at the moment. It was a reaction to the pure, raw, _maleness _of him right now. It nearly embarrassed her, that primitive impulse.

"The engine. Again." He positioned himself at the hood of the car.

"Oh," she breathed. Wiping her forehead, she returned to the front seat, turning the key again. This time, the familiar, strong sound of the engine roared to life. "You did it!" She had three doctorates. But she was impressed by this. She frowned, knowing that she wouldn't have been nearly as impressed if the same feat had been performed by an actual mechanic. "I owe you." Even the words sounded dirty to her own ears, although she meant them innocently. She thought she did.

"Yeah." He grinned broadly, wiping his hands on his shirt, leaving dark handprints. He looked down at himself. "Well. I think I just discovered the reason why it makes sense to have shirts at each other's houses." He glanced up and into her eyes. "Can I use your shower? Just because your car's a mess doesn't mean I want to make mine that way."

A shower? Now he was just torturing her.

_Not a therapy day._

* * *

She was acting skittish. Frowning, he followed her into her apartment, anticipating the cool rush of air conditioning, but when they both stepped inside, they were hit with a cruel blast of hot stuffiness.

"I left the air on low when I left this morning," she murmured. "That's odd."

As she stepped towards her thermostat, she lifted her hair off her damp neck and his throat went dry. They were both flushed and warm, and her shirt was starting to cling to her in several places with new, fresh sweat. He mentally counted how many days until another therapy session, trying to order his crotch to behave.

"It says it's on," she muttered.

"Sure doesn't feel that way." He stepped behind her, and she stiffened slightly but stayed put. "I could take a look at it, I guess."

She turned around, and because he was still directly behind her, they were nearly touching. "Don't worry about it," she murmured. "I think I have a fan somewhere."

He nodded, following a single bead of sweat as it dripped down between her breasts. _Oh shit. Three days to go until Tuesday. _

He was practically counting the minutes.

"Um, there's fresh towels in the closet," she said, stepping around him, her lashes falling. "Let me get you one."

Sucking in a breath, he followed her, and she turned to press the towel into his hands but he held them up to show her. "I shouldn't touch that yet - don't want to get grease on the clean towel."

Her eyes lingered on his hands for a minute, and he wondered what was going on with her. She set the towel next to the tub and flipped the shower on for him, testing the spray with her hands. With her back to him, he couldn't stop his eyes from trailing to her ass, appreciating the shape of it in her jeans. "You want it cooler?"

_It was going to have to be - he was hot enough as it was._

"Yeah, sure," he said tightly. All he could picture was her body against his in his shower two days ago, her skin slick under his hands, her body tight around him as he thundered into her. She'd arched back into him, her moans echoing against the tile, and he'd come harder than he'd ever come in his life. Each time, they seemed to set new records.

"Um." She glanced at him awkwardly. "I'll be in the kitchen. I was going to throw together a salad or something if you want to stay."

"Yeah, sounds good," he murmured, watching her back out of the room.

Peeling off his shirt, he let it drop to the floor, his belt following. He'd just unbuttoned his pants when he glanced at her bar of soap and realized he was going to muck it all up with his greasy hands. He wondered if she had another he could use instead.

"Hey, Bones?" he called, wandering towards the kitchen. "Do you -"

He stopped dead in his tracks. She was standing in front of the open freezer door, her eyes closed as her lips closed over a cube of ice.

_Holy mother of god. Was someone trying to _torture _him?_

"Bones," he croaked.

Her eyes flew open, and she turned towards him, her eyes following his bare chest down to the open button of his jeans. "Hi," she said a little breathlessly. "What's wrong?"

Her skin was flushed beautifully, her hair clinging to her damp neck, and the ice cube was melting in her warm fingers. He walked toward her slowly. "I was just... wondering if you had another bar of soap? I didn't want to get car grease on yours..."

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes locking with his. "I... yeah, I think so."

Her lips looked swollen from the frozen cube, and this was _absolutely ridiculous. _There was just no _way_ he could wait until Tuesday. Not when she looked like this. He reached past her into the freezer for another cube, and pulled it out, shivering slightly. Her eyes widened as he slid it slowly down her neck.

"What are you doing?" she panted. "Booth..."

"_Screw Tuesday_," he muttered, realizing she probably had no idea what he was referring to. He tossed the ice cube into the sink one handed, hearing it clang against the metal. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he waltzed two steps and backed her into the counter while his mouth sought hers. Her lips were cold and exciting, her skin warm and slick with the heat. The contrast was erotic, and he ran his tongue over her mouth before slipping inside. She tilted her head, returning his kiss passionately.

He could feel her nipples harden under her thin shirt against his bare chest, but when his hand went to slip beneath the hem, she grabbed his wrist, pulling back. "_Stop_," she panted.

* * *

Her head was buzzing with the heat and the drug-like power of his kiss, and it surprised no one more than her when the next thing she heard internally was Angela's voice. _'I _also_ resent you disrespecting your relationship with Booth by turning him into a glorified fuck buddy,' _she had told her. And Brennan had known it wasn't true, because they weren't doing it for the sex. They were doing it for the therapeutic value.

He was still kissing her, and she was kissing back even while her hands were pushing him away. One of his large palms was pressed against her back, and it entered her mind that he was going to leave a mark there. Coming next was the image of her naked body, covered with greasy, Booth-sized handprints, and an involuntary shudder went through her. "Boooooth. We can't..._ stop." _Before the last of her willpower left, she shoved him with both hands, making him stumble back a few steps.

"What? What? You don't want..." He looked dazed and thoroughly confused by her reaction.

"Booth. We are doing this for _therapy," _she gasped, still breathless from his kiss. "We can't just kiss anytime we feel like it!"

"Do you feel like it?" His voice sounded raw, full of desire, and he could not possibly comprehend just how much she actually felt like it, and how hard it was to stop. He took a step toward her, his shirt off, his pants gaping open invitingly. It would be just too easy to thrust her hands inside of them, make them disappear...

"No!" she squeaked, ducking past him and circling the counter, putting something solid in between her and his deliciously warm, smudged body.

"Bones..." He made to follow her, and she pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Don't you come one step closer, mister!" she blurted out, backing away. "Tuesday! It's only three days! We can wait until Tuesday!"

He shook his head, still looking at her with that fucking sexy gleam in his eyes that she had already become conditioned to having an orgasm directly after seeing. "It seems awful arbitrary, Bones."

A desperation filled her that seemed out of proportion to this situation, but she had _promised _herself... and Angela... that there was a rhyme and a reason to what she was doing with Booth. Reaching out, she snatched a dishrag off the counter and tossed it at him. "It's not. Cover up."

He held up the small square of fabric. "With this?"

"I don't care! Just... we can't!"

She came back around and made an effort to dart past him. He gently caught at her arm and she jerked back, making a run for her bedroom. "The soap's in the medicine cabinet!" she called.

"Bones..."

"Tuesday!" she shouted, slamming the door, leaving him bewildered in her hall.

That face lingering in her memory, she felt a little guilty for behaving as she did. She cracked the door open.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'll come out once I hear you in the shower and make lunch. You can stay. Just _keep your damn clothes on." _She slammed the door again, feeling better having been at least civil.

Shuddering, she sat on her bed, wondering if Angela had in fact correctly diagnosed her with a psychotic disorder.

* * *

Lunch was ridiculous at best. Conversation was centered around work alone, and their eyes locked every few minutes as he gulped iced tea and ate forkful after forkful of spinach dressed with a light, lemony vinaigrette.

He realized that he'd like to lick it off of her entire body.

Standing up finally, clean from his shower and his stomach full of roughage, he set his plate in the sink. "Thanks for lunch," he said, clearing his throat.

She nodded, following him into the kitchen. "Thanks for fixing my car."

When he turned to look at her, she was lifting her hair again off her skin, this time tying it up loosely in a knot, a few loose strands clinging to her throat and jaw. His mouth immediately went dry, and his crotch felt incredibly heavy.

"I guess I'll see you on Monday," she said as she loaded their plates into the dishwasher.

"I'm in court on Monday," he said quietly. "So I guess..."

She stood still for a moment, her back to him. "So Tuesday," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Tuesday."

She grabbed a spoon and started scrubbing if frantically, suds flying from her sponge, and he sighed. At the very least, he could be satisfied knowing she was struggling with this as much as he was. And he couldn't help but remember Jack's words earlier.

_You guys have been dancing for too long._

He studied the line of her back in the tank she wore, and the flare of her hips. He let his eyes roam the length of her bare arm, and linger on her throat. She was so goddamn beautiful.

And he suddenly made a decision. Stepping towards her, he leaned towards her ear. "Oh, Bones? About Tuesday..."

She paused. "What?"

He set his hands on her hips, whipping her around and crashing his mouth onto hers, his tongue sweeping thoroughly. He kissed her until they were both breathless, until he felt her starting to lose her balance. He tangled his hands into her hair, pulling it from it's bindings, and he crushed his hips against hers, letting her feel the erection that had appeared the second he touched her.

And then he let her go.

"Tuesday?" he repeated, his mouth next to her ear.

She was apparently incapable of speech, and it was the only thing that made his next move possible.

"_I'm going to blow your goddamn mind."_

And he turned away from her, walking towards the door, the visual of her dazed expression and half open mouth lingering in his mind.


	24. Chapter 23

_**A/N: okay, guys... when we said Tuesday, we didn't LITERALLY mean Tuesday. :) It's just in the story. Still, we suppose that's when most of you will read this, which is a funny coincidence. **_

_**Expect a slight slowing down of this little fic... we've had an emergency situation- Jamie's hard drive bit it on Friday, and so our writing time together has been limited. Also, Mia had a lot going on this weekend. Still, we managed to whip up something for you. We hope you like it. We're moving closer to the climax, so to speak, so buckle your seat belts. :)xoxo**_

_**

* * *

**_The number on the dashboard clock stared at him mockingly, and he worried briefly over his mental state as he climbed out of the SUV, walking towards the entrance to The Jeffersonian.

It was Tuesday. At 6:02 in the morning.

He'd driven by her house fifteen minutes earlier, hoping to catch her and convince her that sex and breakfast would be an excellent combo before their work day and therapy. But her car hadn't been in the parking lot, and he'd realized that if she were anywhere at six in the morning, it was work.

As he walked past the guard, swiping his ID to allow him through, he grinned at his insanity. Yet the closer he got to her office, the more the smile slipped from his face. His ache for her wasn't the least bit amusing. It had kept him from sleep, had distracted him in court yesterday. Even Parker had noticed how distracted he'd been on Sunday, and he'd had to fight the urge several times to return to her apartment and convince her that waiting until Tuesday was the most ridiculous thing they'd ever come up with in the history of their... friendship.

He hesitated outside her office door. Peering through the glass, he found her quickly, sitting on the floor and sorting through stacks of papers. Her hair was pulled back, revealing the slender line of her throat, and she had her lower lip between her teeth as she focused on the pages in front of her.

_Focus._ Even the thought of the word was making his crotch tighten as he looked at her. He continued to stand outside of her office, wondering if she'd laugh when he entered, if she'd roll her eyes that he'd showed up so damn early, that he seemed so... _desperate._ He should walk away, he really should.

He stepped into her office, and she glanced up in surprise at the sound of someone in the room. Eyes widening, she went to speak and then paused, and he felt her eyes trace him slowly, weaving down over him and back up again. And when their eyes locked, he found no mockery.

_Heat, though. Definitely heat._

"Hey," he said quietly, stepping towards her.

"Hello," she said, somewhat breathlessly. "What are you... what time is it?"

"Early."

She nodded slowly. "Oh."

All he could think about, as she sat looking up at him, was having his mouth on her again. He wanted her breathless and moaning, wanted her nipples pearling in his hands as she cried out. She'd haunted him since he'd left her house, the memory of her following him anywhere he went the last two days, and if she wasn't going to let him touch her in the next few minutes, he just might scream.

"Bones," he said quietly, his throat tight.

She finally pulled herself to her feet. He was next to her desk, and she walked in his direction with a handful of papers. Dropping them on top of some folders, she pulled in a breath, meeting his eyes, and as soon as he saw the familiar color, the blue he now knew meant something entirely different than work, he snapped an arm out and wound it around her waist, pulling her to him.

She came willingly, and he had her pressed against the edge of her desk in seconds, her arms winding around his neck. She kissed him first, her mouth pressing insistently to his, and at the first touch of her tongue, he moaned. He'd been thinking about her flavor for days, the silky texture of her mouth, and he was hard in an instant, pressing his hips into hers. His hands left her waist to cup her cheeks, and he kissed her wildly, his tongue dueling with hers inside her mouth.

"It's Tuesday," he finally rasped, pulling back to suck in a breath. "We have therapy."

"Yeah," she said breathlessly. "I didn't forget." She pulled him back to her mouth, her tongue raking the inside of his cheek and over his teeth, her hands clutching the shoulders of his suit jacket, starting to shimmy it down over his shoulders. He slipped his own hand from her face to her waist, then lower, pressing his fingers up under her skirt, and she moaned.

The sound of a door closing down the hall made them both freeze, and he suddenly realized they were surrounded by walls of glass. Not exactly discrete, despite the time of morning.

If they had to stop, he was going to implode.

She wound her fingers around his tie, tugging him backwards towards the door to her bathroom. "Not out here," she whispered.

His hands were already on the hem of her shirt as they tumbled into the small room, the door closing quickly behind them.

* * *

She hadn't been able to sleep. Not even a doze, or a nap. The instant her head had hit the pillow on Monday night, she had known that everything that followed would be an exercise in futility. It felt like her lower body was literally aching, pulsing a slow, steady cadence to the memory of his last kiss and the promise he had made to her. Almost grudgingly, she had allowed her fingers to trail down her body, between her legs... but even that experience was merely frustrating. She didn't want her slender, delicate fingers. She wanted his thick, strong ones. Or better yet...

She had groaned and rolled over, holding her pillow over her head as if it would smother her memories and her fantasies into submission.

It hadn't worked.

A few hours later, in no better shape, she had gotten out of bed and written for awhile. Then she had run on her treadmill for an hour. When she was done, she showered, and checked the clock. It was barely 5 in the morning.

Out of ideas, she had declared the night a loss and went to her lab. Sorting through her old files gave her some measure of distraction. But the instant she saw him standing at her doorway, looking at her like _that, _it was like she had been doused with pure desire.

Now, fumbling in the closet-sized bathroom, she felt ridiculous, crazed. This was out of control. _They _were out of control. But they weren't. They had waited. It was a therapy day.

"I need this," she gasped as he shoved his hands up the back of her shirt, feeling around for the clasp of her bra before he realized she hadn't worn one today. "I've been feeling so... tense."

He grunted as he dragged his hands to the front of her, running his palms across the hard points of her nipples. "I want you naked."

_Naked? _It would take at least a minute to make her that way. There was no fucking way she could wait that long.

"No." Without waiting for his response, she hiked her pencil skirt up around her hips. As if reading her mind, he lifted her, setting her on the ledge of the white porcelain sink. "Now, Booth," she choked out, as he pressed her back against the mirrored cabinet with one hand and kissed her while the other hand pawed at her thigh, pulling it open while he thrust the bulge in his pants against the center of her. She groped at it, feeling embarrassingly wanton, but driven by a molten heat pounding through her body.

"Are you..." His final word was lost in a groan, and she couldn't wait for him to ask if she were sure. Words were useless now, every action that wasn't directly involved with getting him inside her was unneeded.

_"NOW." _Faster than she could have ever imagined her fingers could move, she had his zipper down, had the hard, pulsing heat of him in the palm of her hand. She shoved her panties aside and pulled him to her and inside of her in one motion, eyes literally tearing in relief at the longed-for sensation_. "God..."_

He fell forward hard, palm on the mirror, and she was grateful it didn't break under the delicious intensity of his first thrust. It sparked something in her, something raw and animalistic, and any intent she might have retained for a steady build disappeared. Arching her back, her hips pistoned wildly, knocking off the soap dispenser and jamming the faucet just a little painfully at the small of her back. His face fell into the crook of her throat, and he was panting. "You have to slow down..."

"_Fuck_ slow," she hissed, the strangled sounds he was making pushing her higher, the crotch of her panties rubbing against her clit at every thrust. "More... more..."

An incoherent rumbling erupted from the back of his throat, and she crossed her ankles across his ass, pulling at him hard with every limb, exploding along with him, not caring exactly how she reached this pinnacle a mere 45 seconds after they had begun, but barely letting it subside before she was anxious for more.

_This was crazy_. He panted into her ear, and for the first time she felt the dull ache at her back where the spigot had been poking her. She was going to be uncomfortable for a few days now.

And all she could think about was the next therapy day.

* * *

He braced his hands on either side of her against the sink, filling his lungs with air, trying to gain some sort of control of his body. While he'd been desperate, this hadn't exactly been what he'd had in mind when he'd stepped into her office this morning.

"Ouch," she murmured, scooting forward slightly, and he realized the spigot of the sink had most likely been digging into her back while he'd taken her. Flushing, he quickly apologized, pulling himself out of her body and zipping his pants. He finally pulled his eyes to hers, trembling slightly.

"Temperance," he whispered. "I -"

She silenced him with kiss, and this one was slower, sweeter. He wrapped an arm around her middle, and she again crossed her ankles behind his back. With the urgency of the first time over, he allowed his hand to slide up under her shirt, grazing the underside of her breast. She loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his own shirt and slipping a hand inside to stroke his chest. His heart thudded beneath her fingers, responding to her nearness, and he swept his tongue over her lower lip, making her shudder.

"I couldn't sleep, couldn't work," he whispered against her mouth. "Today seemed a million miles away."

She tilted her head back as he brought his lips along her jaw. "Yes," she murmured. "I was having trouble focusing..."

There was that word again. He suckled gently on the lobe of her ear, and she moaned, shivering.

"I love when you do that," he murmured, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"What?" she gasped.

"Moan."

It brought another one from her lips, and he pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor. Cupping a breast he lowered his head, brushing his lips over the crest of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth to gently suckle. It had been a collision this morning, almost violent, and he didn't want to think the day could go by without doing all the things that had whirled through his mind since they'd been together. He wanted it all. Part of him forgot they were crammed into her little bathroom, up against the sink.

His hand again slid between her legs, his fingers slipping against her, and she gasped, rolling her hips slightly up off the porcelain. "Booth..." she whispered. "_Seeley_."

He dipped lower, fluttering his tongue inside her bellybutton. Her head fell back against the mirror, and for a moment he realized just how far away from the point of this they were. This was no "release valve". He wanted to make love to her, wanted more than a quick fuck against a bathroom sink.

And it scared him.

They weren't in the cabin. This was real life, this was their partnership and their friendship on the line, and despite the fact that he'd agreed to this arrangement, part of him was willing to admit that he'd have agreed to anything to be able to touch her again. The thought of going back, to only being able to place his palm at the small of her back to guide her through a door or to hug her once in a while - he couldn't do it. He'd go to therapy until the end of time if he had to, if it meant he could be with her like this.

And she'd wanted him, too. Desperately. She hadn't even waited to remove her clothing, and she'd only wanted faster and harder, had begged him, had dragged him inside her within seconds of being behind the bathroom door. He'd nearly wept with the force of it all, he'd wanted her so badly, and a small part of him even wanted to laugh, it was that ridiculous.

He suddenly knelt in front of her, pulling her hand from inside his shirt, and he dipped his tongue between her legs. She fisted her hands into his hair, and again a moan fell from her lips, followed by his name. He'd never been particularly attached to his first name, never really wanted others to use it, but there was something about the way her voice rolled over the letters that made him hard as a rock, his heartbeat pounding under his ribcage.

But she was tugging him up to her mouth again, kissing him deeply. Her hand slid between them, caressing him, and she slid down the zipper of his pants, slipping her hand inside.

A groan rumbled low in his chest, almost a growl, and he buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent. She rolled her fingers expertly over the tip of him, her delicate fingers stroking, and he finally grabbed her wrist, worried if he didn't stop her, he'd come in her hand.

"I want you," she whispered. "I want you inside me again."

This time she shoved his pants down around his hips, and he thrust inside her, wrapping an arm around her and lifting her off the sink, spinning to press her against the wall. She gasped, her eyes falling closed, trusting him to support her, and he was slower this time, wanting to make it last. Her lips parted, her lashes creating shadows on her cheeks, and he let his tongue flicker over the pulse at her throat before suckling at the skin gently. She'd managed to open all of the buttons of his shirt before he'd lifted her, and she slid her hands inside, peeling it off his shoulders, and she followed her fingertips with her mouth, pressing kisses softly to his skin.

Her body hugged and cradled him inside her, and with each thrust he slipped closer to oblivion. His hands cupped her ass, and he felt his breath coming in harsher gasps against her neck. "Temperance," he moaned. "Oh, god... Oh, baby..."

She tightened around him suddenly at his words, startling him, and one hand jumped up to cup her face, his thumb against her mouth as it parted with her orgasm. She flicked her tongue out against it, sucking it into her warm, wet mouth, and he felt his balls tighten in response. She quivered around him, her eyes falling shut again, and he pressed her higher against the wall, his mouth attaching to the tip of her breast, his tongue rolling over her nipple, and she gasped again, clinging to him.

"Bones..." he moaned. "Oh, god, baby, I'm going to -"

"_Oh,_" she gasped out. "Booth..."

Sweat had broken out on her skin between her breasts, at the base of her neck, and he let his eyes slide over the beautiful pink flush her skin had taken on with her last release. His own eyes fell closed then, leaving the rest up to sensation, and this time her orgasm triggered his own. She was crying out this time, loudly, her mouth next to his ear, and she wasn't simply quivering, she was shaking. Groaning, he tucked his head against her and thrust hard, one last time, burying himself deeply inside of her as he came. His whole body seemed to swell and explode, and he held his breath for several moments, clenching his eyes tightly shut, holding her against him.

Neither of them spoke for several moments, and she finally shifted in his arms, her fingers curling into the edges of his shirt. "Agent Booth?"

"Yeah?' he rasped.

"That definitely blew my mind," she whispered. "Three times over."

He smiled, his chest still heaving. "Tell me about it."

"_Bren_?"

They both froze at the sound of someone in her office.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "Angela."

He set her down silently on her feet, and she tugged her panties back into place, slipping her skirt back down over her hips, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles. He swept her shirt up quickly from the floor, handing it to her before frantically trying to button his pants.

"Bren?" her friend called again, this time knocking on the bathroom door. "You in there?"

"Yeah!" she called out. "Just a second!"

He sent her a frantic look, gesturing at his open shirt, and she waved her hand, telling him to stand behind the door. He stepped quietly to the side, searching for his tie, and, too late, he saw it between her feet as she tugged open the door.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "Hi."

He couldn't see her, but he could already picture Angela's face. "Umm, hi, sweetie. Sorry to interrupt but..."

Her voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes. _Fuck. She'd seen the tie._

"Hi, Booth," Angela said flatly.

He stepped slowly from behind the door, his shirt still half unbuttoned. "Hi, Angela."

The artist simply shook her head, looking at the two of them. "You're kidding me, right? At work now?"

Bones frowned, and she stepped out of the bathroom, giving him a chance to pick up his tie. "I don't think you really have room to talk," she told her friend sharply.

"It's not the same thing," Angela insisted, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "So don't even give me that."

"How so?"

"_Because_," she said firmly. "Jack and I are _married._ We were a couple then," she said holding up her hand as her friend attempted to protest. "We were in a relationship. We weren't two partners walking around pretending sex was just some _therapy exercise._"

He was speechless, unable to tear his eyes from the two women. Bones lowered her hands to her hips, her eyes narrowing. "Angela, this isn't your business - you should stay out of it."

"Oh, like the two of you stayed out of my _marriage_?" she said, her voice rising. "You two thought you were _so_ smart, didn't you? You think Jack and I didn't know _exactly_ what you were up to from that first session?" She glanced between the two of them, and when her eyes met his, he flushed in embarrassment. This was ridiculous, even he knew that. It didn't help that someone else realized it too.

"You two _needed_ our help," his partner insisted to her friend. "You were practically signing divorce papers! Now you're talking it out!"

Angela just shook her head. "Sweetie, my god. I love you, but can you even _see_ what you're doing? When are you two going to realize what this is all about?"

"Just _stop_," Bones said sharply, and he swiveled his head to look at her, startled by her vehemence. "Stop it right now."

Angela looked at her for a moment, then sighed, and when she turned her head, she fixed her gaze on him, and he felt the color drain from his face. "Booth," she said quietly. "I know you know what I'm saying is true."

He swallowed, dropping his hands to his hips and his eyes to his feet, not answering her, and she sighed again. "Fine. I've said my piece - I'm done. But you two better to get it together before you ruin everything - your partnership and everything else that comes with it."

With that, she turned on her heel, stalking out of the office and puling the door shut behind her. He kept his gaze firmly on the floor, refusing to look at his partner, and she brushed past him to her desk, the scent of the two of them together still lingering in the air, and his eyes closed in remembrance.


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hey folks. Jamie here. You wouldn't _believe _how dreary life has been without internet...without the computer...without writing. I was forced do actual work and wedding planning. It was truly horrible. But, due to my perserverence in this _tres _difficult time, and Mia's extreme patience with my technology-withdrawal neuroticism, we are _back! _**

**Crashed hard drive led to loss of ALL pictures of Dave's ass:( Please forward them along, along w/your reviews. K? Thanks. You are the best readers ever. Loves.**

* * *

It was hot out, and the temperature in the car was becoming oppressive. Neither of them were willing to give in and turn the air conditioner back on, because they knew they _should _just stop, get out of the car, and go to Lance Sweets' office as planned. But making the transition from car to parking lot to office was something that felt incredibly difficult to accomplish at the moment.

"We're supposed to be there in 4 minutes," she pulled away from his lips long enough to sigh, before eagerly diving back in, seeking out his tongue with hers while the fingers of one hand ran through his damp hair.

"Maybe it wouldn't be bad if we were just a little late," he murmured, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and making it tingle pleasantly. His hands were doing some wandering of their own, sliding up and under her shirt, cupping her right breast and gently tweaking an aching nipple, making her moan a little.

"The whole reason we're doing this is so we can be better therapy clients," she reminded him, belying her words by running her fingernails up the insides of his thigh. "It defeats the purpose if we don't participate in the therapy itself."

He let out the low, sexy rumble that always made her heart pound furiously, as her hand reached the hard swell at the crux of his legs. "As far as I'm concerned, this _is _the therapy."

"Yes, well. You tell that to your supervisors who mandated these appointments for us." He abandoned her lips in favor of her throat, licking at the moisture that was developing there from the heat, both internal and external. She glanced at the back seat and tried to determine the logistics of how both of them would fit, doing the thing that she so desperately wanted to do...

A motion to her right caught her eye, and she saw a car pulling up, looking to back into the spot next to theirs. _Bastard. _Booth heard the turning of the gravel and looked up too, scowling at their unsuspecting mood-killer. She gave him a smile of understanding, which faded when she remembered that once they had their session, it would be another long week until they could touch like this again. Impulsively, she leaned across the console and pressed her lips to his once more, sweetly, closing her eyes to memorize the taste and the feel until the next time. "There'll be another Tuesday."

"Tell me it's tomorrow," he begged her. And even her overly literal mind knew what he meant. Because suddenly, irrationally, she was despising Wednesdays as well.

Great attention was paid to smoothing out and adjusting their much-abused clothes as they ascended the stairs to the office. Opening the door on the 4th floor, they found the familiar sight of Dr. Sweets, glowering at them.

"You are making this difficult for me, you know," the young therapist informed them. "Nobody wants you to remain a team more than I do. But when you _consistently _do things like arrive late and walk out of sessions..."

"Sorry," Booth interrupted him, sounding remarkably good-natured as he did so. "We were here. We just got caught up downstairs. Talking."

That gave pause to their psychologist. "About what?"

Brennan entered in easily. "About how much we were looking forward to today, actually. We've been doing better... very little conflict."

"Oh?" Sweets was eyeing them. Trying to decide if they were being honest. "Well. I'd be interested in hearing how you accomplished that." Standing, he motioned for them to follow him into his office.

She glanced over at her partner. They hadn't really discussed how they were going to handle Sweets, what exactly they were going to tell him. But for some reason, she was not experiencing much anxiety about it. They could deal with Lance Sweets. She had no doubts. Booth looked back and gave her a small smile. He was obviously feeling similarly confident. They sat on the tweed couch together, gazing steadily at the therapist. Allowing him to think _he _was running this show.

Sweets' eyes switched back and forth between them. "You certainly seem... calmer." He sounded suspicious.

"Yes. Definitely calmer," Booth agreed.

"Why?"

The question surprised her. She thought he would be more subtle, probe a little more.

Obviously Booth had thought the same, because he seemed thrown. "Because... um... we... we've been..."

She saved him. "We've been jogging. Before therapy."

Two sets of male eyebrows raised in the room, one recovering quickly while the other remained skeptical.

_Come on, Temperance. You're the genius here. Follow through._

"Jogging?"

She nodded. "Yes. You were correct, that the nature of our work creates tremendous pressure and strain, and that we needed an outlet so that therapy does not feel so intense. So we have been jogging together."

"Really." She could not decipher whether Sweets' response was a statement, or a question.

"Yes," Booth blurted out. "We just jogged this morning." His face looked a bit red. _Pull it together, Booth._

"I see. And this works for you."

"Has so far!" she said brightly.

"Hmm." Sweets was quiet for so long that doubt hit her for the first time since they had crossed into his office. She squirmed, and felt the urge to fill the silence with chatter. Maybe she should explain how exercise released endorphins and other chemicals which had a useful mediating effect of stress levels.

_Keep your mouth shut, Temperance. Don't overexplain. _

"Well, guys," Sweets finally said slowly. "I'm proud of you. You were creative and motivated in seeking a solution to your problems."

She nearly fell over in relief.

"But. I do see a potential issue."

_You have got to be fucking kidding me. _They couldn't win.

Booth's eyes had a desperate gleam. "What in God's name could be the problem in us jogging together?"

"Well." Sweets crossed his legs and arms, in full psycho-education mode. "Exercise is an excellent reliever of excess tension and energy. We mental health professionals recommend it all the time. As an _adjunct _method of stress relief."

They blinked at him.

"But the emotional responses that you have to your work and each other... they can't be completely ameliorated by physical exercise alone."

Temperance Brennan was not a crier. But at this moment, she felt like sobbing. Sweets and Angela were starting to sound alike to her. And they weren't even using the same damn _language._

"I have an idea!" Booth announced, so suddenly that she was distracted from her near-outburst.

"Please," encouraged Sweets.

"Maybe..." He hesitated. "Maybe we should have therapy twice a week! To... you know... help with the... emotional responses. And stuff."

Again, she may as well have read his mind. More therapy. More therapy meant a shorter wait. Because she wasn't sure she could handle 6 sleepless nights a week. Yes. Maybe _Booth_ was the genius here. She nodded vigorously in agreement.

Their therapist's jaw hung open. "You. Want more therapy."

They shook their heads.

"Twice a week."

"If you think it would be helpful," she supplied. The kid would jump at this opportunity. He had been trying to get them to engage more actively in therapy for _months._

Color drained into Sweets' face, making his cheeks splotchy. An odd response.

"Dr. Sweets? Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly concerned for him. He didn't look healthy.

"You _guys_," he suddenly exploded, jumping up from his leather chair. "You aren't jogging at _all! _You're having _sex! _You are _using_ therapy as an excuse to have _sex!"_

Her partner was red again. "I don't think you're old enough to say that word, Sweets," he muttered.

The doctor obviously wasn't listening. "I can't _believe_ this! All my hard work. All the efforts to improve communication. I let you destroy my father's _cabin. _And this is what you do? You use therapy as a glorified... _peep _show?"

There were few words that Brennan could find to express her irritation. Never had so many people taken such an interest in her sex life. "Dr. Sweets... come on now. You said yourself. We seem calmer! You were proud of us. Can't you just... accept that we found something that works for us?"

Sweets' mouth opened to speak, but he shut it before any words came out. "Leave my office."

"But..." Booth tried.

"_Leave_."

It was the most definitive she had ever heard the young psychologist. She quickly stood and nudged Booth's shoulder. _Don't. _He got the message.

When they stood outside the slammed door, they stared at each other.

She tried to be optimistic in the face of everyone else's distrust of her and what she and Booth were doing. "Well. That could have gone worse!"

Her partner groaned. And she frowned.

* * *

Picking up her glass of syrah, Angela crossed her legs, swiveling her stool at the bar to survey the crowd. The bar was full of after-hours executives, lawyers and other professionals, and more than a few of them had given her the eye. She'd politely refused their offers to buy her a drink, her husband and her best friend the only things on her mind.

"Is this seat taken?"

About to snap a response, finally annoyed, she turned and found herself looking into the weary face of Lance Sweets.

She sighed, scooting her stool slightly to the left to make room. "It's yours." She watched as he signaled for the bartender. "Rough day?"

He dropped onto the stool next to her, slumping against the bar. "You have no idea."

"I bet I do," she muttered. "If you had a session with a certain set of _partners, _I can understand perfectly."

He glanced at her, almost smiling. "Oh, yeah?"

She set down her wine glass rather sharply on the bar. "I had my own little encounter today - I wanted to strangle them both," she said tightly. "You would not _believe_ what those two were up to today, what they _think_ they're accomplishing."

"Tell me about it," Sweets muttered, nodding to the bartender in thanks as the man set a drink in front of him.

She glanced at him curiously. "Tell me about it..?"

He sighed. "I can't tell you about it."

She tapped her fingers on the bar. "Oh, right. Doctor/patient confidentiality, right?"

"Well, it's client, really -"

"What _if,_" she said, interrupting him, "I told you something that I already knew... and that if I _knew_ this piece of information, that say, _you also knew_, then we could discuss it, and you wouldn't be doing anything unethical."

He frowned, his glass half-way to his mouth. "Huh?"

Exasperated, she turned to him. "Sweets, doctor/client confidentiality is to protect what they tell you, correct?"

He nodded.

"So, it doesn't mean you can't discuss them at all, right? Just... you can't reveal anything that they may have told you in confidence to me." She paused. "Is that right?"

He sipped his drink, eyeing her. "What is it you think you know?"

"I don't _think_, kid," she drawled. "I know."

He raised an eyebrow, and she sighed. "I'm not sure _you_ know, though," she said slowly. "What if I tell you and it was something you didn't know?"

Lance Sweets tipped back his drink, swallowing it one go, and set the empty glass on the bar with a thud, causing Angela to jump slightly in her seat. "You know, I might be young," he muttered. "But I'm not stupid. And I'm certainly not _blind._ I know Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan certainly think so, but I didn't get my PhD by the age of twenty-three by being an idiot or unobservant. And I'm sick to death of everyone thinking I am."

She studied him for a moment, nodding slowly, making a decision. "They're sleeping together. And they've actually deluded themselves into thinking it's some sort of therapy."

The young doctor let out a dramatic sigh, his hands flying into the air. "I know, _right?_ I mean... _dude. _Only those two could come up with something like that..._" _He suddenly froze looking horrified. "Oh my god. They had sex in my father's cabin, didn't they? They _did._" His eyes were rounds as saucers. "That's why they took the _sheets home. _Oh my god. Ew."

Angela shook her head, a smile teasing her lips. The kid might be smart, but he was still a kid.

"I confronted them today," he muttered wearily, his little fit ending as quickly as it had started, signaling to the bartender that his glass was empty.

"I can only imagine it went as well as when _I _did," she sighed. "I found them together at _six_ this morning - in her _bathroom at her office._"

His eyes widened. "Her _bathroom?_"

She sighed, sipping her wine. "Apparently they found something that _'works for them'_," she said sarcastically, using air quotes.

Sweets rubbed his forehead wearily. "I threw them out of my office."

"I walked out of hers."

The therapist nodded slowly, as if considering something. "What were you doing there so early?"

She snapped her head up, startled. "What?"

"You said you caught them at six o'clock." He paused. "Do you usually go to work that early?"

"I was working on something," she said quickly. "I was behind, and needed to get to work early."

In truth, she'd slipped from bed with her husband to avoid coffee together, to avoid breakfast and sitting through rush hour traffic so that he wouldn't try to attempt another conversation about alternative solutions to becoming pregnant.

But she wasn't about to tell Sweets that.

He nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on her for a moment, but he finally shrugged, turning back to his drink.

She wondered how much the kid actually saw - in her colleagues and herself. Desperate to put the focus back on her best friends, she turned on her stool, facing him. "They're insane, right? I mean, you must see that they're denying their feelings for one another. Booth doesn't want to rock the boat - I _saw_ his face today. He knows this is absolutely ridiculous and... _unhealthy_, right? That kind of denial is unhealthy."

Sweets simply watched her, his glass rolling in his fingers.

"And Brennan - my _god. _The woman's living in a different reality if she thinks she can take the one man in her life that she trusts with her past, with her family and her feelings, and make him some sort of... _fuck buddy,_" she spit out. "She... she _loves_ that man. God knows if she'll ever admit it to herself. But they're going to ruin everything, aren't they?"

Sweets sighed heavily, setting down his drink, and Angela was surprised to feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "That just... that can't happen," she said desperately. "They love one another, they work so _well_ together. They have so much potential to just be... amazing. And it's just this one thing, this _one thing _they can't seem to work out." She trembled slightly, setting down her wine. "Can that really be enough to wreck everything?"

The therapist looked her in the eye. "Angela. It takes both people to make it work. Both halves of a couple have to be willing to come together and be honest and find compromise to be able to go through life in any sort of relationship. And if one or both of those people is unwilling to lay it all out on the table, then yes. That 'one thing' can be their downfall."

She swallowed, her eyes swimming, her vision blurring. Digging in her purse, she pulled out a twenty and dropped it on the bar. "I have to go," she blurted out quickly, dropping off the stool.

She had to find her husband.

* * *

The familiar glow of the clock in the dead of night mocked her. Again. 1:26 in the morning. And again, she lay awake, willing herself a slumber that never came. This was becoming practically laughable.

There was a difference between this and her other sleepless nights. She was utterly exhausted at this point, both physically and psychologically, and her drained body wasn't craving sex. Although... her mind drifted to their earlier encounter, Booth's lips at her breast as he gasped his impending climax, drilling her frantically against the bathroom wall...

_Stop._

No. It was a very... _stimulating _memory. But it wasn't the culprit behind her wide-open eyes tonight. She felt unsettled. Her best friend was angry with her. She had been kicked out of _therapy _(what ever happened to unconditional positive regard, she asked herself petulantly). And she and her partner... her _anchor, _who had always been the one she counted on for comfort, for stability, for _normalcy..._ had three modes lately: working, fighting, and having desperate sex. Something was missing.

She needed to do something. What was that exercise that Sweets had taught them? Guided imagery. He had taken them to the beach. Not literally, but after talking them through progressive muscle relaxation, he had them close their eyes while he described it to them... the sounds of the waves and the seagulls cawing. The salty smell of the sea air. The feel of the warm sand between their toes, and the baking of the sun on their shoulders. Every sensory experience was accounted for in that narrative, and when he told them to open their eyes once more, she had truly felt refreshed. Like she had taken a weekend vacation, rather than a 20-minute journey in her mind. Even Booth had been impressed, telling Sweets, "Wow. I can almost feel the sand in the crack of my ass." Sweets had told them that anytime they felt they needed an escape, their mind could take them to the most relaxing, comforting place they had ever experienced.

Forcing her eyes closed and her tight muscles into relaxation, she took several slow, deep breaths into her belly. Her mind wandered, searching for a return to the place where she found the most peace. Her mother's kitchen. Her lab. The beach. The forest.

A cabin in the woods.

Her thoughts lingered there, breezing back and forth between the memories, picking up the feelings, instead of the action. The uncharacteristic openness of both of them, her empathy in hearing of Booth's struggles, her delight in his joking, the wonder at feeling cared for by him, _trusted _by him. Their guards had been down. And they could do that for each other, because of the implicit respect and trust between them. They could be sad, and scared, and silly, and happy, and _themselves. _And it had not mattered, that it was not a Tuesday.

Her eyes fluttered open. Her muscles were relaxed, but her chest felt tight. Sex aside, what happened at that cabin was not a singular or unique event in the course of their relationship. It merely epitomized the closeness they had come to share.

_And she missed it._

She rolled over, clutching onto one of her firm pillows. She remembered what Booth had told her after their intense post-fight (okay, during-fight) sex, when they had returned from the cabin. It had surprised her, but she had assumed that when he said he missed her, he meant the physical act itself; the touching, the kissing, the near-perfect way their bodies fit together. Now, she wondered if there were more. Whatever it was that keeping her awake tonight, body satisfied with their morning interlude, but heart yearning. It seemed like everyone was against her right now. She wanted desperately to be in a place where she fit.

Giving up, she sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, finding her slippers there. Nothing worked. Not writing, not exercising, not working. She did not bother to change into real shoes or real clothes before she left her house and climbed in her car. What was the point?

It took a while for him to answer her knock. His bleary, exhausted eyes were reflected in her own.

"I couldn't sleep," she said simply, by way of explanation.

He looked at her intently, so much so that she nearly regretted her decision to leave her apartment in her slippers, hair unbrushed, flannel pajama shorts still in place. It felt suspiciously like knocking on her parents' bedroom door, after she had a nightmare. She felt a little too vulnerable.

"It's late, Bones," he told her. "And... it's Wednesday."

"I know." She realized then how it must seem, her coming here in the middle of the night, and Angela's accusation rang in her mind. _A glorifed fuck-buddy. _"That's not what I came for," she said quickly.

He stood aside. After a second's hesitation, she entered. Door closed, him facing her with an expectant gaze, she realized the rub to all of this.

She had no _idea _what she came for.

* * *

She was in her pajamas. He ran his eyes over her, ending with the slippers on her feet, and he was suddenly struck with the thought that something was wrong. If she wasn't here for sex, something must have happened.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, his muscles tensing. "Did something happen? Is it your dad, or -"

"No, no," she said quickly. "I was just..."

Her eyes looked anxious, her eyes wide, and he guided her quickly into the living room, ushering her towards the couch. He took a seat on the coffee table in front of her, his hand falling to her bare knee.

"Bones," he said quietly. "What is it?"

She took in a deep breath, her eyes flickering around the room, avoiding his. "I don't know, I just... I couldn't sleep," she said in a rush. "And I kept thinking about how mad Angela is, and I'm still worried that she and Jack aren't going to work things out and Sweets -" She sucked in air. "Sweets threw us out. What does that mean? Is he going to separate us? He's so _mad._ What's he going to -"

"Bones, Bones," he murmured, grabbing for her hands, which were gesturing wildly. "Hey, it's okay. We'll sort it all out, alright?"

She nodded tightly, her eyes shining. She looked so vulnerable he could hardly think straight - she rarely allowed herself to panic in such a way, and the simple fact that she was here in the middle of the night without even wearing shoes said something.

"We'll talk to Sweets," he said quietly. In reality, it had been what had kept him tossing and turning in his own bed, and he had yet to come up with an answer himself.

"But what do we say?" she asked, her lower lip trembling. "He doesn't want to talk to us, Booth. He thinks we don't... that we don't _care._ But I _do_ care, I do. I just don't _understand_ what it is he wants me to do, what he thinks I'm not _getting_ -"

Her voice was rising, and she was nearly hysterical. He pulled her towards him, tugging her into his chest. "Shhh," he said, stroking her tangled hair. "Hey, it's okay. I know you care, alright?"

"But I don't know... I've never not _gotten_ something that has to do with my job, Booth," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm used to people telling me that socially I just don't get it, but you're... you're my _partner._ I work with you, I have to go to therapy for work, and I'm just... I'm _bad at it. _The more I try and understand the more I screw it up." She sucked in a quivering breath. "He's going to split us up, isn't he? Because I can't get it right."

He closed his own eyes, trying to stay calm for her, rubbing her back in soothing circles. "No, hey. No one's splitting us up, you got that?" He pulled back from her, cupping her chin. "I won't let anyone. I promise."

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she nodded once, her eyes shining wetly. "But..."

"Baby, it's not just you, okay?" he finally admitted. "I was there, too. I don't know what he wants from us, either. You didn't fail. We just haven't figured it out yet, okay?"

She nodded again, and he held her for several more minutes until she suddenly pulled out of his arms, standing up quickly. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

He stood up, surprised by her sudden switch in behavior. "I wasn't sleeping," he admitted. "You didn't wake me."

She nodded stiffly, then headed towards the front door, and he followed her. When she reached it, however, she didn't leave. She turned to face him again, and he saw the tears threatening to spill. "Angela won't even talk to me," she whispered.

The artist's words have been haunting him since yesterday morning, and he swallows. _Booth. I know that you know what I'm saying is true._

"She's just upset," he said softly, stepping towards her. "She loves you; she'll come around."

She nodded, and finally he saw the tears leaking from her eyes, and her lower lip wavered. Stepping forward, he put his arms around her, cupping her bottom, and she jumped up, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her cheek dropped to his shoulder as he made his way slowly towards his bedroom.

When he settled in bed next to her, he simply pulled her against him, tugging the covers up around them. There were no frantic kisses or a flurry of hands moving over one another. Her head tucked into the crook at his neck and shoulder, and her eyes fluttered closed as they both drifted towards sleep.


	26. Chapter 25

_**A/N: hey y'all. sorry about those damn alerts not working... WE didn't even get one to our own story. was so sad. :( things appear to have been working yesterday and today, so our fingers are crossed. **_

_**so, strap on your helmets and get ready for the ride. We're back. :) xoxo**_

* * *

Before her eyes opened, she fought the urge. She did not need to see right now; that particular sense was unimportant. The only important things were the feelings-and she was feeling warm. Refreshed. Comforted. Like she had a better night's sleep than she had in _ages. _There was just one thing...

"Stop looking at me," she murmured, turning her face to bury into the clean smell of his t-shirt. Her toe, finding the inside of his leg, trailed up the inside of his calf, enjoying the heat of it. He stirred, having been given permission by her wakefulness.

"What, you can see with your eyes closed, now?" he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep. He pulled her closer, hands spanning most of her back, and she sighed contentedly.

"No. But I can feel it when you look at me. Your eyes are very... intense." She could not quite explain it herself, but she had always known when Booth's eyes were on her. They warmed her. Finally giving in, she let her own eyelids slip open, tilting up to look at him. There it was: the face she longed to see above all others, and the look that found all that was lost. A sigh escaped her.

He smiled. "How did you sleep?"

Thoughtfully, she blinked. "Good. Really, really good." And she meant it.

"Me too." His fingers reached up to her tangled curls, stroking them and urging her face up the extra few inches to his mouth. His kiss, first thing in the morning. She realized that they hadn't spent the night together since their time at the cabin. His good-morning kiss lingered on her lips, and one of the puzzle pieces she had been missing slipped into place.

"I had thought it was the sex. What it was that made us better in the cabin." Turning her head, she allowed her ear to rest against his chest once more, finger drawing small circles next to her while she mused.

His stroking hand stilled at her words; surprised she was talking about it, most likely. It was a last resort. Everything else had only led to problems. Talking was what was left. "You changed your mind?" he queried carefully.

"I had to. It's illogical, to continue with a course of action, when it is repeatedly proven to be problematic," she reasoned. "Sex hasn't helped us. It's only caused more problems."

He paused long enough for her to look back at him with concern. "You don't think we should do this anymore." His voice had a new caution to it, his eyes, a new terror. She understood it, and chose her next words more carefully.

"There was more that happened at the cabin." Not wanting to have to explain it, or even entirely knowing what she was talking about, she waited for his response.

"You think so too, huh?"

It was exactly the thing she needed to hear, and she could have kissed him for it... so she did, thoroughly and slowly, much like she had in the car when she knew she couldn't kiss him again for a week. She had not quite realized it until now-just how deep was her fear that if she confessed there was something else she had been missing, _not _just the sex, that he would look at her blankly, confusedly. His acknowledgment meant everything. Pulling away, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, gratefully. "I think we should try something."

A laugh rumbled in his chest. "We haven't exactly been having the best luck with experiments lately, Bones. If you haven't noticed."

"No, really," she insisted. "Do you remember..." She trailed off. Dammit. When had she become this overly sentimental person? It didn't fit with her perceptions of herself. But, to be entirely fair, there had been several things she had done, felt, and been in the past several years that didn't fit with her perceptions of herself. She had needed to adjust, make room. It was essential for human beings to adapt.

"What?" he encouraged, smoothing back her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"You used to bring take-out in the middle of the night. We said it was about a case, but we'd always start talking about the most inconsequential things. We'd go to the diner after a case, and after celebrating our victory, I'd end up telling some unrelated story about something that happened years ago, or you would... and then, at the cabin..." What was she trying to say? She sighed helplessly.

"Yes. I remember the sharing."

How did he do that? It reminded her, strangely, of her ability to sense his gaze when her eyes were closed. She squirmed a little, burrowed her face into his shoulder. "I want that," she said simply.

He was quiet for a few moments, and she felt exposed...more so than when she had stood bare in front of him, more than when she had opened herself up to him and accepted him into her body. "Temperance Brennan," he finally said slowly. "Are you suggesting that before I take you on your bathroom sink... we try _talking?"_

She couldn't help herself...the teasing incredulity in his voice made her collapse into giggles. Obviously pleased, he tugged her body on top of his, holding her tightly while they chuckled together. "That'll make Sweets happy, don't you think?" Her smile faded a bit, remembering their last interaction with their (decidedly unhappy) therapist.

"Guess what? I don't care what makes Sweets happy. I care what makes my partner happy."

Something inside of her glowed at his words. She lowered her lips to his, gently. Wondering what ever happened to the days when rules and standards were what made her happy, made her feel safe. "We're going to be late for work," she said, regretfully.

"You know what?" he whispered a few inches from her lips. "Every now and then... once in a blue moon... I get this sneaking suspicion that there are things in the world more important than work."

She wasn't sure yet, whether she agreed. But it did not stop her from trading slow, languorous kisses with him, spending just a few moments enjoying the feeling of maybe, possibly, _finally _moving in the right direction.

* * *

Booth nodded as the younger field agent dropped several files on the top of his desk. It was almost three o' clock and he'd been working solidly for several hours without so much as a bathroom break. He wanted to keep himself busy, because if he let his mind wander...

It wandered to her.

Still, no matter how hard he'd tried, he'd been unable to completely escape the memories of this morning. He'd watched her sleep for several minutes before her voice had mumbled sleepily to him, her long, graceful limbs tangling with his own. He didn't think he'd ever enjoyed waking next to a woman more in his life, and what startled him, suddenly, was that she'd only actually _slept _next to him. The desperate desire, the desperate worry that things would never again be the same between them... all had been quelled when she was lying in his arms, breathing in rhythmic, slow breaths, looking completely at peace with herself and the world.

"So, you must be freaked out at the idea of a new partner, huh?"

His head snapped up so quickly, his neck ached. "What?" he said coldly.

"Well, I overheard Cullen talking to Sims this morning, grumbling about finding you a new partner and dealing with the bone doc."

His stomach dropped out, his blood ran cold... all the clichés he'd ever heard about panic came crashing down around him.

"What?" he asked hoarsely. "You heard him say _what?"_

The agent's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, man. I thought you _knew_ about this. I thought that's why you were in your office all day, catching up on paperwork to finish up."

He just blinked. That fucking little _bastard._ What had he said? He wanted desperately to throw something large and made of glass at the wall.

"What else did he say?" he asked, his voice low and steady. The agent had backed further towards the door, looking like he wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

"Just that... that things hadn't been going so well with your therapy and they were considering making other arrangements with The Jeffersonian. That's all."

He nodded slowly, using nearly all his energy to not give away his total and complete _freak-out_ with his body language. He didn't need even _more_ gossip swirling around the Hoover Building.

Picking up a pen, he reaches for another file. "Thanks."

The agent hovered in his doorway, clearly unsure what to do. "Did I... piss you off? I didn't mean to."

"No, no, it's fine," he lied smoothly, his stomach feeling like he'd been sucker-punched. "I was just startled, that's all. I like to be in the know."

The agent backed slowly out of his office, closing the door behind him. Waiting several moments until he was fairly certain he was out of earshot, Booth suddenly stood, grabbing the glass paperweight from his desk and whipping it at the wall, the glass shattering, winking into tiny fragments over the carpet. He took several deep breaths, and then made two phone calls.

The first was to the secretary, claiming he'd accidentally broken something, and could the janitor please clean up his office.

The second phone call was to his partner. She picked up on the fifth ring, right before her voicemail would normally click on.

"I have to see you," he said immediately, not even bothering with a greeting.

"What's wrong?" she asked instantly. "What's going on?"

"Meet me at Sweets' office in twenty minutes, alright? We have to talk to him. Now."

The phone was silent for a moment on the other end, and he could almost picture the stunned look on her face. "Bones."

"I have remains I'm examining, Booth, I have -"

"_Bones. _You have to meet me. Do you understand?"

Another pause. "Okay," she finally said shakily. "Twenty minutes. I'll be there."

* * *

There were very few times in the history of their partnership that she had heard Booth sound seriously shaken. Concerned, worried, angry...all of those were common, but his voice this time had a barely-controlled quality to it that frightened her.

She dropped a bone. She _never _dropped a bone, she was always infinitely careful with the remains she examined. But for once, her hands wavered, and the fibula she had been holding slipped from her grip and onto the floor. Everyone in the lab noticed.

"Dr. Brennan?" Cam questioned, as she swiped the fallen fibula off the ground.

"Fine, I'm fine," she rushed to assure, backing away from the examining table, unbuttoning her lab coat. She saw Angela peering out of the doorway of her office. "I have to go."

Leaving curious stares in her wake, she hurried towards the exit. A hand caught her arm just as she was about descend the stairs. "What's going on, Bren?"

She looked up at her friend's concerned eyes. "I don't know."

"Where are you going?"

"Sweets'."

Angela blinked, looking a little alarmed, but not surprised. "I'm coming with you."

"Ange. You don't even really like me right now." She didn't feel like she could sit in the car, getting another lecture about how she was doing the wrong thing and ruining her friendship with Booth.

"Shut up. Just because I don't agree with you about something, doesn't mean I don't love you."

For some reason, Angela's words made her want to cry. Her friend's warm fingers laced through hers.

"I'm driving," the artist said firmly.

In very little time, they were cruising down the street in Angela's Volkswagen Beetle, Brennan wringing her hands in the passenger's seat. "Booth sounded strange," she told her friend softly. "Panicked. I'm worried. Our last therapy session didn't go very well."

"I gathered that," Angela replied flatly.

She looked over at the brunette curiously, but Angela offered up nothing.

"I know you think we've been making a mistake," she said softly. "But... last night... it started to feel like maybe things might be okay. It felt like we might have an understanding. And now..." She couldn't say it. Booth had never been scared of Sweets before. Ever. But something was different today.

"Sweetie. I truly don't believe that anything is so wrong here that we can't fix it, okay? It's going to be okay."

It sounded odd, coming from her friend right now, and it took Brennan a moment to figure out why. "It wasn't so long ago that you were talking about irreparable damage, and I was trying to convince _you _that things could be fixed."

Angela glanced over at her for a second before turning her eyes back to traffic. "And you were right."

Brennan lowered her head. "You don't have to say that just to make me feel better."

Annoyance marred Ange's features. "Because I so often lie in order to placate you." At Brennan's frown, her friend sighed. "I'm sorry. I've been acting as if I had things figured out anymore than you did. And I didn't. But I think maybe, I'm starting to get it."

"Get what?" For one moment, her mind was turned from whatever disaster that awaited her at Sweets' office.

Angela was quiet, as if considering whether or not to explain this right now. Cautiously, she finally spoke. "I had been so scared that it was the topic of having children that had damaged our marriage, that I just decided to shut it out. But I had been mistaken. It was the _shutting out _that was the problem. First when Jack did it, and then when I did. We set up those barriers to keep out the uncomfortable feelings, and ended up keeping each _other _out."

Her mind wrapped around her friend's metaphor, tried to pull literal meaning from it. "So you agreed to discuss alternative options in childrearing."

"Not exactly. We agreed... that there are no off-limits topics in our marriage. If something is on our mind, we talk about it. No matter how scary it can get." She stopped talking, and Brennan looked at her expectantly, wanting her to continue, to tell her the secrets of relationships and marriage and love and the world. Instead, she said, "We're here."

The last time she had been in this parking lot was after Sweets had accused her and Booth of turning therapy... and their relationship... into a farce, and upended the whole fragile structure upon which their understanding was based. She hadn't thought she could be more confused. But she was. Booth's car was already here, parked haphazardly across two spaces. Not a good sign.

The elevator doors had not even opened before she heard Booth's loud voice dominating the space of the office. She and Angela looked at each other.

It would appear that things were as bad as she had feared.

* * *

"How _dare_ you, you hear me? _How dare you. _Do you have any idea what effects your stupid _opinion _could have? We have the highest rate of solving cases in the entire bureau! We've saved countless people and put murderers and rapists behind bars!"

His face beet red, his voice booming throughout the small office, Booth stepped closer to the young psychologist behind his desk, his finger jammed in his face. "I swear to god, kid. I could shoot you."

For once, the kid did not look intimidated. Facing him calmly, he sat back in his chair. "Agent Booth, you need to calm down."

"Don't _tell _me to calm down. Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea what this will do to my _partner?_ She's spent her whole life losing people, and I'm the _one_ person she allows herself to count on! And you think you can just swoop in with your PhD's and your awards or _whatever_ and screw up our lives!"

"Agent Booth -"

"If you split us up, Sweets, I. Will. Kill. You."

"_What_?"

At the sound of his partner's voice, both men turned their heads, and all he could see on her face was fear. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her eyes flashed between the two of them.

"Whoa, boy," Angela whispered behind her, backing out of the doorway. "I'll just wait out here, Bren."

His partner stepped inside the room, and he felt fissure-like cracks starting around every inch of his heart just seeing the expression on her face. That alone made him want to grab the kid behind the desk and pummel him senseless. She didn't deserve to be going through this - he should never have called her. He should have dealt with this on his own. And it only seemed more cruel after last night in this morning - they'd been getting somewhere, he was convinced of it.

"What did he say?" she asked Sweets quietly. "Did he say you're splitting us up?"

Sweets sighed. "Sit down, Dr. Brennan."

"But -"

"I would like you both to sit down," he repeated calmly, looking them both in the eyes. "And we will discuss this like rational adults."

Booth sank into a chair, his muscles still twitching and his body humming. Bones sat down quietly next to him, and their therapist cleared his throat. "Do you remember what we talked about two months ago?"

He blinked, glancing at his partner, and then back to the therapist. "You'll have to be more specific," he said tightly, his jaw clenched.

"I told you to picture a closet," he said quietly. "And a mailbox."

He sighed. This again? He turned to Bones, but she was staring at Sweets, and he could see her trembling slightly. It made him even angrier, and he wanted to pull her into his lap and tell her everything would be okay.

Only he didn't know anymore if it would. He certainly had lost any ability to intimidate Sweets. The kid held all the cards now, and he knew it.

"What about your closet?" Bones said suddenly, the vulnerability in her voice not lost on either man.

"It's your closet, Dr. Brennan, not mine," Sweets said calmly. "And I'm thinking it's starting to get a little full."

She shook her head slowly. "I don't know what you _want _from me," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I did what you asked, I thought I did. I went to the cabin, I found a release valve. I did all that because you _asked _me to. Because I wanted to stay with Booth!"

Sweets sighed. "Dr. Brennan. My job here, was to assess whether or not the two of you could work well together -"

"Which we _do!_" Booth snapped. "Don't say we don't."

The psychologist glanced at him for a moment before turning back to Bones. "I acknowledge that the two of you are very successful in your partnership. But what I need _you_ to understand is that the two of you are heading into dangerous territory, and you were sent to me for a reason. And instead of really getting to the root of the problem with me, you have joked, side-stepped the issues, lied to me about your so-called 'release valve' -"

She started to speak but he held up his hand to silence her. "In my professional opinion, the two of you have not gotten any closer to being emotionally open and honest with how you feel about one another, and to top it off, you're now sexually involved. Can you tell me why on earth I should recommend the two of you stay together?"

They were both stunned into silence.

Sweets reached for a folder on his desk, pulling out a form, and he could see Bones looking like she was about to totally and completely panic. "What do you want us to _do?_" he shouted suddenly. "Just tell us, we'll do it! No joking, no lying. Just say it and we'll do it."

Sighing, the therapist shook his head. "Guys. It's not that simple. I can't _instruct_ you on how to interact with one another. You have to learn how to be open, and that requires something I'm not sure you two are willing to do."

"And what's that?" he asked sharply.

"Honesty."

His heart sunk, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. What did he _want?_ For him to sit here and explain in detail how he felt about his partner? That wasn't possible.

"I've told you how I feel," Bones suddenly blurted out, her eyes on the psychologist. "He's my partner, he's my friend, and I trust him -"

"I'm not sure you trust him with everything you feel," Sweets said calmly, still shuffling papers. "And because of that, I think the two of you are heading down a road where working together will be detrimental both to each other and your work. And it's because of that, that I feel you should be separated."

Booth's blood pulsed through his body at a rapid rate, and he wanted to lunge out of his chair, but he just sat there, paralyzed, his knuckles white where he clutched the armrests.

"What do you mean I'm not honest? I just said how I feel!" Bones shouted, her eyes wide. "I _told_ you how important he is to me, and you want to split us up anyway?"

"How do you really feel, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked suddenly, setting down his papers and pen and looking at her firmly. "Right now, tell me. This is your chance to open that closet and let it all out."

She shook her head, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, and Booth watched in horror as Sweets simply nodded. "Okay. I understand. You aren't ready."

He closed his eyes, and because of that, he missed her shooting out of her chair to her feet, but he heard her words clearly enough.

"I _love him_."

His eyes flew open and his mouth dropped open in shock, his heart thumping wildly like a drum against his ribcage.

She was still shouting, and he turned his head slowly in a daze, watching her.

"_Okay?_ Is that what you wanted to hear, Sweets? That I _love_ my partner, and I'll do anything to keep us together? Fine! I said it!" she said, wiping at her eyes.

She sucked in a breath, her lower lip quivering, and Sweets finally nodded, sitting back in his seat. His expression had changed, and he suddenly had taken on the caring, concerned expression of someone who wanted them to make it work.

"That, Dr. Brennan," he said calmly, soothingly. "Was your mail."


	27. Chapter 26

**A/N: We are so freaking excited. This is the first story either of us has had on FF that has gotten this many reviews! We loves. Feel like we won a friggin Emmy or something. Thank you thank you thank you for being so fab.**

* * *

He was shaking on the inside, and praying that outwardly, he appeared calm, in control. Professional. When he had been in college, this had been the stuff his therapy dreams were made of. Insight, hitting his clients like a freight train under the skillful art of his psychoanalytic touch. And here it was, come to life.

Only in his dreams, his clients had always been grateful.

If looks could kill, Dr. Brennan's certainly would have had him on her lab's examining table in a few seconds flat. Her outburst seemed to echo in the office, and it rang in his ears while he tried to ignore the venom in the anthropologist's eyes. Her partner was gaping at her, and she paid him no mind, her tearful, desperate gaze firmly on Sweets. Yes. This would have implications. He felt just a little guilty at the turmoil that he had created here.

_Keep cool, big L. You are in the big leagues now. You fight fire with fire._

"You are angry with me," he observed.

Her eyes had never been icier. "I hate you," she said, simply.

Okay. He supposed he deserved that.

"Dr. Brennan... love... and hate, for that matter... are emotions like any others. They are quite natural, and do not inevitably impede your work. It's your way of dealing with them that can be problematic. And you haven't been dealing with them in a helpful way."

Nothing. Just his clients, breathing heavily. Despising him.

Realizing he had been neglecting a very important member of the original conversation, he forced himself to meet Booth's eyes. "Do you have anything you'd like to say, Agent Booth?"

Brennan's partner tore his eyes from her, looked at Sweets coldly. "Oooooh, no, kid," he said softly. "You did enough damage for today. I'm not going to help you."

He sighed. "Believe it or not, guys, I'm not here to make your lives difficult. I _want _you to work this out. And... since you are _finally _letting me speak... you should be aware that I have _not _recommended your separation. I merely told Booth's supervisor to prepare for the possibility, if it came to that."

They looked at him dumbly. They had jumped the gun. He had known they would. The thought of being separated had given them a knee-jerk reaction. A reaction that was more honest than anything else that had happened in therapy thus far.

Just like he had known it would.

He held up the form, the one that they were so afraid of. "Here it is. The deal. One week. I'll give you one week to prove you can be honest with one another, and to come up with an actual, mature, _workable _plan of what you want the nature of your relationship to be, and how whatever you choose might affect your work. If you can do that, we can anticipate the benefits and the challenges, and figure out how to cope with them. And I will tear up this form that suggests that it's advisable you be split up." He took a breath. "If you can't do that... if you continue to deny the gravity of this situation, and the poor decisions you have made... then I'll have no choice but to follow through with my first inclination."

For a second after he made his proposition, fear ran through him again. They outnumbered him right now. And they probably knew of some really good ways to dispose of a body.

"C'mon, Bones." It was barely a whisper. Agent Booth took his partner's arm, and tugged gently. She resisted, looking like she was going to lunge. One more tug, and she finally fell back, relenting. Booth guided her slowly to the door.

When it was shut behind them, Lance Sweets fell to his chair in a trembling heap. He had done it. He had really done it. He had stood up to his most difficult clients. Prompted a long-repressed confession. Forced them to confront an issue that had been steeped in defenses, on both of their parts.

Now, all there was left to do was hope that he was right about the notion upon which this move was predicated: that they were strong enough to stay standing, once the scaffolding of their defenses crumbled. If this went right, it would be the masterpiece of his entire career. If it went wrong...

He eyed the newspaper lying on his desk, opened to the employment ads.

* * *

Angela, eyes round, sat in the waiting room, a magazine still unopened in her lap. She'd been straining desperately to hear since her friend's shocking outburst, but voices in the office had lowered, and she hadn't been able to catch anything other than the word "mail."

The door suddenly opened, and her friend and Booth appeared. Brennan looked shaken, to say the least, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Her partner, on the other hand, looked shell-shocked, and despite the fact that he was guiding Brennan out of the office, his eyes seemed slightly unfocused.

_Whoa, boy._

Brennan's tearful eyes fell on her immediately. "Ange. Will you take me home?"

Booth looked startled, and he immediately turned his head to the side, but Angela still caught the look of hurt in his eyes that he was trying to hide from his partner. Standing, she nodded to Brennan, her voice full of uncertainty. "Yeah, of course, Sweetie. If that's what you want."

"It's what I want."

Stepping away from Booth, Brennan walked towards her, and Angela reached for her hand, curling her fingers around hers. She'd felt a lot of thing towards her friend in the last two months - frustration, disappointment, irritation. But she loved her. And she realized, suddenly, as she guided her friend to the door, that despite the fact that Brennan had meddled in her marriage and hauled her and Jack into therapy...

_It had worked. _In some twisted, ridiculous way, what Booth and Bren had done was to force her and Jack to talk things out, to communicate - and for that, she was incredibly grateful.

Angela looked up as the elevator doors swooped closed, and she caught Booth's expression. It wasn't just hurt on his face, it was concern as well, and she nodded to him quickly, before Brennan saw her, because she understood immediately what his eyes were saying.

_Take care of her for me._

It about broke her heart.

Brennan was silent during the duration of the elevator ride and their walk across the parking lot to the car. It wasn't until she was safely inside, her seat belt buckled tightly around her that she turned to Angela.

"He wants to split us up," she said quietly, her voice trembling.

Angela sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

A tear slipped down her friend's cheek, and she instantly turned her head away to look out the window. "He gave us a week," she whispered.

Her brow furrowing, Angela paused, her hand hovering over the ignition with her keys. "A week? To do what? Finish a case?"

Brennan sucked in a breath. "No. A week to fix it."

_Did that kid know who he was dealing with? Did he have a clue what he was doing?_

God, she hoped so.

Starting the car, she pulled carefully out of the parking lot, pointing her Beetle in the direction of Brennan's house. "Sweetie," she said slowly, after several moments of silence. "What did he mean by your mail?"

Her friend whipped her head back around, her eyes wide. "You heard what we said?"

She swallowed. "It was hard not too, babe. I certainly didn't hear everything. But I... I heard what you said. And then I heard Sweets say something about mail -"

"Shut up about the damn _mail_," she snapped. "God!"

Taken aback, Angela blinked, watching the road, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw her friend's face crumple.

"Oh, Angela, I'm sorry," she pleaded. "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry."

She nodded slowly. "I know, Bren. You're upset. It's okay."

Sucking in a breath, Brennan sat silently for a few moments before turning to her. "How could I have said that?" she whispered. "I _shouted _it. Right there, in front of a therapist. God, Booth must have been horrified. I probably only made matters worse, I -" She shook her head. "How could I have said that?" she repeated.

Pulling the car to a stop in front of the large condominium, Angela finally turned to her. "Can I ask you something?"

Her friend nodded, her eyes welling again with tears - tears Angela knew were due to frustration, fear and generally being utterly and completely overwhelmed.

"Did you mean it?"

At her question, her friend suddenly did something - despite her trembling since they'd left the office - that Angela did not expect.

She dissolved into tears.

* * *

There were few things Temperance Brennan hated more than crying in front of people... even when that person was Angela, with whom she felt more at ease than anyone else in her life. It might have been easier if she actually could identify what she was crying _about. _But everything was confused lately, and instead of untangling those mysteries, she just felt her life feeling more and more like the Gordian knot.

Ange had been loathe to leave her alone, she could tell, but Brennan insisted that she needed space to figure out a plan... that's what Sweets had demanded, a _plan, _after all this "focus on the feeling" and "focus on the here and now" crap. The kid obviously could not decide what he wanted, either. But as soon as her friend had left her, after a lingering hug and a whispered promise that everything would be alright, she walked stiffly to her office, booted up her computer, and settled in her desk chair. She did not think of a plan. She immersed herself into another world, one that she had created and had complete control over. Kathy and Andy did her bidding, and there were no trips to cabins in the woods, no threats of separation, and no unplanned confessions of love. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, and did not give her even one opportunity to let her mind wander back to the real world. She typed long past the point where she felt sleepy. It should not have surprised her that in one moment, she was writing, and the next, her head was being startled off of her desk by a knocking at her door.

Shaking off the strange slumber, she rose and peered out the peephole of her front door before opening it.

"I thought we should talk," Booth said, and she smirked slightly.

"That does seem to be the thing that everyone wants us to do," she said dryly, allowing him entrance. He shut the door behind him, and reached for her. She stiffened immediately.

"Booth... no."

"I know you're upset. So am I."

It was an understatement. "I'm not happy about what happened today. But my feelings do not change the reality of this situation." She spit out 'feelings' as if it were a dirty word.

"Which reality is that?"

She turned from him, unable to meet his eyes when she said the words. "The reality that in a week, we'll be unable to work together anymore."

"Hey." His hands were on her shoulders, warm and comforting, but even that felt like a lie to her. She would never be completely safe. "C'mon. Don't be defeatist. We'll figure this out, and get Sweets to come to his senses."

Her head was shaking the entire time, and she finally turned around to face him. "How, Booth? What are our options? He didn't like the way we were before all of this... all the fighting and constant tension... so we can't go back to that. He doesn't like the fact that we are having sex, so we can't just do that. If we told him we were going to try something _more _than just sex, he'd probably give us some sort of dual relationship bullshit and shoot that down, too. We can't win. And honestly..." She let out a shuddering sigh. "I'm too tired to _try _to win. I just want to be able to do my job like a normal person again. Back before therapy complicated everything."

His eyes were burning through her again. "This isn't happening because of therapy," he said softly.

Oh, God. She couldn't handle this. Chances were, in a week she was going to have to give all this up. Booth would be taken away from her. The last thing she needed in the face of this was to become _more _emotional-show him _more _of herself. Because God knows she had done too much of that today already. Tears threatened to fall again, and she fought them, hard, while she walked away from him.

He called after her; said something that made her stop in her tracks. "I know why you said it."

She paused, not looking back, but listening.

"You would have said anything, I know. So would I. You said what you thought Sweets wanted to hear. And you were right. I know that."

He was giving her an out. Telling her that he believed her confession in Sweets' office was a last ditch attempt to get them another chance. She cocked her head.

"But please, Temperance...you were the one who earned us this week. Don't just give up now. What we do is just too important. What we _are _is too important."

When he said it, in that low voice, with those pleading eyes, she believed it. Never had another person had more influence over her. Part of her relished in that trust, that ability to allow herself to depend on him. Another part wanted to just shove it away with all her might. Either choice was difficult. Pulling him closer, or pushing him away.

Slowly she turned. Forced herself to meet his eyes again, her voice trembling when she spoke. "What do you think we should do?"

"What we do best," he said, with a small smile, taking a step closer to her. "We solve a mystery."


	28. Chapter 27

_**A/N: to all you living in the US, happy 4th and fireworks and all that fun jazz. sorry we didn't have time to update much recently - jamie was busy breaking anything she came into contact with (computers, doors, etc.) and mia was putting all her effort into getting her boyfriend to wake up before noon and to go to bed before four in the morning. :) all of that was tres exhausting, but you know what? we missed you guys, and so we pushed through. xoxo**_

* * *

Parker's legs pumped back and forth as the swing flew higher and higher, and he grinned broadly in his father's direction. Managing a smile back, Booth watched from a park bench, a cardboard takeout cup of coffee in his hand. The weather had finally cooled enough to stomach being outside, and his son had pleaded to be allowed to go to the park.

He figured while Parker worked off some of his energy, he could work out some of his current and extremely pressing problems.

He generally spent a fair amount of his free time thinking about his partner. He often had found himself, while cooking dinner for himself or his son, or sitting down to flip through a magazine, wondering what she might be doing. He'd had fantasies of her in the shower and while asleep, and specifically, after therapy, she was often on his mind.

But over the last two weeks, she had completely and totally taken over his mind. He couldn't seem to sit still or have a moment alone without his mind drifting to their relationship, of images of them in bed and generally anything she'd said or did to confuse him further. Now, after their confrontation with Sweets, thoughts of Temperance Brennan were looping in his head on repeat.

What she'd said... He didn't know how to even begin to process it. He'd never, in the years they'd been partners, expected for her to say those words to him, even in regards to friendship. He'd certainly never expected her to blurt it out in therapy, to a kid doctor who was making them jump through hoops left and right.

She'd sounded so angry.

She didn't like to be backed into a corner, and Sweets had done that. She'd done what she thought she had to do to preserve their partnership, and hadn't just shocked him - it had moved him.

And it had pained him, because hearing those words (most likely out of context) had been like the ultimate tease to his heart. Shouted in anger to a third party as a last ditch effort wasn't exactly a love confession he'd ever dreamed of, and he wasn't so foolish to believe that she'd meant it in... that way.

At least, he was fairly certain she hadn't.

In that moment, for only a second, he'd allowed himself to believe. And in doing so, it had accessed something that he'd been trying to shove down and keep quiet for the last three years. It was as if he had a heart-shaped box in his chest that had burst open at her pronouncement, and he was having a hell of a time fitting everything back inside and closing it back up. It wasn't so much of a realization as an admittance. A part of him had always known, but he'd never been able to verbalize it. He still couldn't. Even that first time, out in the safety of the woods and away from their real lives, he'd only been able to drown in the moment, to show her what he could physically.

The options she'd presented had stung. The idea of splitting up horrified him, the idea of no longer being allowed to touch her made him ache, and the possibility of her wanting more? It made him tremble.

He was scared, plain and simple. Seeley Booth was finally petrified, and all his years of sharp-shooting and chasing dangerous criminals hadn't done a thing to prepare him for what he was suddenly up against. He couldn't bring himself to ask her to explain what she'd said, to make him understand if she'd meant it - and if she did, _how_ she meant it.

There were a lot of different kinds of love.

Standing up from the bench, heading to collect his son, he realized there were actually two mysteries - to figure out a plan for Sweets, and to figure out Temperance Brennan.

* * *

Brennan had been dreading this call... Angela had _insisted _that she call later to check in, even though Brennan had assured her that suicide watch was not necessary. The artist had insisted that it was one of the cardinal rules of friendship to be completely annoying until you were one hundred percent sure your best friend was okay. She knew better than to argue with Angela's wisdom.

The phone rang several times past her friend's usually quick response. She was rehearsing what to say in the message when a slightly breathless voice answered. "Angie's secretary."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Hey, Jack."

"Dr. B," he drew out. "I'm not really Angie's secretary. Still about the bugs and slime, here. Nooooo secretarial skills needed."

"Gotcha." She had forgotten how much she missed the old Jack... the one who wasn't bitter, who joked and was delightfully narcissistic and insecure at the very same time. "Is Ange around?"

"She's in the bath right now. I can have her call you back when she's done."

"No," she said, quickly. "If you can... just tell her that... I'm okay. Still thinking of a plan."

"Alright." He paused. "Hey... I know this might be kind of one of those girl-talk things. But... Angela told me about what Sweets is trying to do. And it's just bull. The kid is full of it."

She sighed. "Thanks, Hodgins. He might be full of it. But he has all the power right now. So... we're trying to find a way to work with him."

"Did you figure anything out yet?"

No. There was nothing. Nothing that even sounded remotely like something Sweets would agree with. "Still working on it."

"Brennan, I..." There was silence for a second. "Never mind. This really isn't my business."

She nearly laughed. "Because we've all been so good about staying out of each other's business."

"Touche," she heard him chuckle. "Listen. Angela and I have been going to therapy... not with Sweets, with someone else... the person we've been seeing is really good. And one of the things she reminds us of is that she is providing a lot... her skills, her knowledge, her education, her understanding of theory and technique... but in the end, _we _are the experts of our own lives and our own relationship. We've been doing it since the beginning... we were there when it worked great, and when it didn't, and we put it back together when it fell apart. We are the only ones who know it, inside and out. And because of that, the solution to the problems that brought us to therapy lies in _us. _We have the power, and the answers. She is just there to guide us along the way."

Waiting for him to continue, she processed his words thoughtfully.

"What I'm saying is... don't let Sweets fool you into thinking he has the right answer, and you need to figure out what it is. You and Booth... you are _good, _man. It's a gift. Just remember that you're the experts. You _know _what you're good at, and what feels right to you. You just need to show Sweets that. Show him that, and I can't see how he could say no."

_Experts. _She hadn't felt like they were experts lately. She could barely decipher her own feelings, let alone lay a detailed plan for the future of their partnership. But she had always known, intuitively, that there was something there worth preserving. That she would give _anything _to preserve.

On the end table beside her couch sat several case files. Cases that she had Booth had poured everything into. Together. In her filing cabinet at work, there were hundreds more that had been closed. The fruits of their labor.

Somehow, while she and Booth were putting all their passion into their work, that passion had leaked out into other areas. They could hardly help it.

"Am I sounding like a scary shrink? I'll stop now."

She realized that she hadn't responded to him yet. "Oh. No. No, you've been... surprisingly helpful."

"Really?" He sounded pleased. "My therapist'll be proud." He cleared his throat. "Not that I care about making my therapist proud," he said gruffly.

"Of course not. Thanks for everything, Hodgins. Tell Ange things are looking up, okay?"

She hung up the phone. The first inklings of a plan came together in her mind.

She should have known they would. After all... she was the expert.

* * *

He knew before he even reached the door it was her - the rhythm of her knuckles on the door was distinctive. Hesitating for a moment, he tried to consider what could possibly bring her to his house this late at night. The last time they'd spoken, she'd been shaken up - he hadn't thought she'd come to see him.

But when he pulled the door open, she breezed past him quickly, ducking under his arm and heading towards the living room, her laptop bag over her shoulder and a stack of file folders in her arms.

"Hi...?" he asked, confusedly. "Were we supposed to meet about a case? Did you have a breakthrough with the remains you were studying?"

She shook her head, dropping quickly to the couch, and when she finally looked up at him, her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

"I have an idea."

"About what?" he asked cautiously.

"About what to tell Sweets - about this 'plan' he wanted from us."

His heart thumped. Sitting down next to her, he listened while she explained, flipping open multiple file folders and opening her computer. He nodded while she pointed out different facts, and the more she spoke, the more he let himself believe that there was a possibility, even if it was slim, that this just might be their answer.

"So...?" she said finally, sitting back and dropping the last file folder on top of the others on his coffee table. "What do you think?" She was trying to appear calm, he knew, but he could tell she was anxious - her fingers were twisting the fringe on a throw that was tossed over the back of the couch, keeping busy. She was both hopeful and extremely nervous.

"I think," he said slowly, "that it's worth a shot, Bones. I mean, I don't have any other ideas."

"We can do this, Booth," she insisted, leaning towards him. "I think we can. This is what we're good at - working together to solve a problem. _This is who we are_."

He nodded slowly. "So when do we see him?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" he asked, surprised. "You don't want to think about this a little more, to see if we come up with anything else or -"

"I think we need to trust who we are," she said slowly. "I think that's the only way this will work out." She paused, glancing at her lap, her fingers leaving the blanket she'd been tugging on to twist together. "I think maybe I've been approaching this therapy thing in the wrong way."

"How do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"I think that we've been looking for a solution to our bickering or the way we communicate," she murmured. "But I'm thinking that... maybe that's just who we are, Booth. Maybe that's the only way we can work together - to challenge each other. So it's maybe not the _way_ we communicate that's the problem."

He nodded slowly. "So what is our problem?"

She blushed. "I'm not sure of that, yet." Sighing, she started to collect her files, returning her laptop to her bag and standing up. "I guess I'm only halfway there." She looked at him for a moment, her eyes grave. "Maybe it's..." Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.

"Maybe what?"

She shook her head, tucking the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Maybe it's what we're communicating about."

She headed towards the door, and he blinked for several moments before jumping up to follow her, catching her as she neared the door. "Bones -"

He wanted to tell her that he hoped the plan worked, that he wanted more than anything in the world for them to be allowed to do what they did best and to prove to everyone around them that they belonged together. He wanted to tell her how he felt, only he didn't have the words. He'd only ever been able to show her.

"I think we need to stop being... physical," she said suddenly, turning towards him, her hand on the knob. "We need to work together, and as amazing as this has been, maybe what everyone's saying is right, Booth. Maybe we can't just have sex. Maybe it's too complicated, and it's not an appropriate release valve."

He swallowed, his knees wobbling slightly at her words. The idea of seeing her daily, of leaning over her shoulder and being able to pick up the scent of her skin at her throat and watching the movement of her hips inside her clothing was going to be impossible.

But maybe she was right. Since they'd become intimate, little else had seemed to matter. Maybe he was losing his focus.

He nodded slowly. "You're probably right."

She took a deep breath, trying to look confident. "I should go, then."

"Yeah, okay."

But she just stood there, and he wondered if she was looking for some kind of closure, some kind of acknowledgment that they were choosing to end this aspect of their partnership, and he made a decision, bridging the distance between them and pressing his lips gently to hers. It was the best kind of goodbye he was capable of at the moment - he worried that if he tried to speak and agree with her, he wouldn't sound the least bit convincing.

When he pulled back to step away, he eyes were shimmering slightly, and then she leaned in, giving his lips a quick brush of her own - her own goodbye.

When she pulled back, the air hung between them, heavy, like the pull between two magnets, and they both leaned forward again, this time meeting in the middle. And this time, he allowed his mouth to part; this time he brought a hand up to cup the back of her head.

And this time she moaned.

The moan was soft, barely audible, but he heard it, and then her bag slid from her shoulder and eased to the floor, and he let her push him gently into the wall by the door. They kissed for several moments, their tongues finally meeting and stroking, and his whole body responded at her nearness. He couldn't possibly give this up.

It just felt so damn right.

And then they were backing down the hall, almost like a waltz, lips still meeting as they made their way awkwardly to his bedroom. He tugged her shirt over her head gently; she pulled his belt from the loops of his jeans, and before long her gasps were filling the room. He kissed her tenderly, everywhere, his hands roaming at will, and when she pulled him inside her, he thought, y_es. This is who we are._

_

* * *

_

She had always been good with discipline, and structure, and self-regulation. But there was something about Seeley Booth which dodged all those qualities, left her unable to turn away from whatever it was that hung between them every time their lips parted from a kiss. This had been no exception. She had meant it, when she told him that they should discontinue the physical aspect of their relationship.

She had meant it, but she couldn't follow through with it. She had known it from the second he touched her. And an hour later, when she fell to his side, breathing hard with satisfaction, it had never seemed more clear.

Looking at him guiltily, she sighed, shuddering. "This is obviously more difficult than it sounds."

His face was flushed with the exertion of pleasing her, of pleasing them, and he reached a trembling hand over to push her hair over her shoulder. "Difficult. Impossible. Whichever."

A tinge of frustration made its way through her glow. Why? Suddenly, she felt that she might understand what it might be like, to have an addiction.

"Bones."

She glanced over at his soft voice.

"You're right. That we can't use sex as a release valve. But..." He hesitated.

"Hmm?"

"I..." He seemed to be really struggling.

"What?"

She suddenly found herself again beneath the press of his chest, but his lips were not frantic; they touched her forehead, softly.

"You're my friend, Bones. One of my best. And... I just want to show you everything that's in me, for you. I want to feel close to you. It drives me crazy, to think about not."

Her hand captured the back of his head, kept his lips close to her. "Shouldn't we be able to just go out for dinner or something?" she asked, only half-facetious.

He shook his head. "No. We don't do anything like that, in the ordinary way. We don't do our jobs like everyone else. And we don't do friendship like anyone else. We do it... more."

She turned it around in her head. "This is just us... doing things more intensely. Like we always do them."

"Yes."

"It's not a mistake." She hadn't considered that.

"Does it feel like a mistake?" The words were whispered, an inch from her own lips.

She answered by pulling him to her, hungrily. Whatever it was... it was what she wanted.


	29. Chapter 28

**A/N: Gad, we love this story. We sorta want it to go on forevah and evah. But if we did **_**that **_**we wouldn't have time to seduce David Boreanaz, clone him, and move into the mansion we'll all be sharing. Until then, though, we'll work on finishing up the story. Loves**

**

* * *

**

He'd been surprised to hear from them so soon. He'd received a call late yesterday from one of Dr. Brennan's interns, requesting a meeting, and out of curiosity, he'd made time.

Now, sitting in his office, awaiting their arrival, he wondered what it was they were going to say, and found himself also wondering what he needed to hear from them as a working solution. Clearly, honesty and open communication was key with these two. He didn't want to sign that paper - he really didn't. But if they continued on this path, he didn't see how things wouldn't eventually blow up in their faces.

Denial only worked for so long. Things were already starting to unravel, and if he were the guilty type, he might allow himself to feel somewhat responsible for that. But he stood by his methods. If they were strong enough to pull out of this, then they _should_ be allowed to stay together as partners.

And if not... it was time they split up before it truly affected their work.

But they'd called so quickly. He couldn't possibly imagine they'd already come up with a working solution, and so he was left with the belief that they'd again come to ask for his help. Clearly over their anger, they would most likely want him to tell them specifically what they needed to do to be allowed to stay together. Dr. Brennan was becoming much less resistant to therapy, and she seemed to be willing to follow his lead more often than not.

He glanced up at the knock on his door, and he called out for them to come in. But when they entered his office, he was slightly taken aback by the expressions on their faces.

They looked confident.

They both held arms full of file folders, and Sweets frowned. "Hi, Guys..." he said slowly.

"Hello," Dr. Brennan said calmly. Taking a seat, she set the folders on the small side table next to her chair, and Agent Booth added to the stack. He remained standing.

"I, uh. I wasn't expecting to hear from you this soon," Sweets said. "I gave you a week to work all this out, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, we remember," the FBI agent said, his voice low. He glanced for a second at his partner, and Sweets could have sworn he caught a slight smile between the two of them before those intense brown eyes were once again on his. "But we work well together, Sweets, you know that. We didn't need a week."

"I see."

He actually didn't see. He had no idea what they were up to, but he wasn't about to let them know that for a second. _Stay calm_, _buddy. You have the power and the form you can sign. Who cares if he has a gun clipped to his belt._

"I assume this means you've come up with a plan?"

"I guess you could call it that."

He frowned. "Guys. I told you that for this to work, for me to recommend to the bureau that you be allowed to continue to work together you needed to -"

"Sweets," Agent Booth said easily, picking up the first folder and flipping it open to glance inside. "This man? He was found to be guilty of attacking young women and then attacking their mothers - but I had no way to prove it. I suspected him from the beginning - he a teacher at the high school where the girls attended. But I had no evidence. He killed three times before I started working with Bones."

He glanced over his shoulder at her again. "She found evidence in under thirty-six hours." He dropped the filed with smack on Sweets' desk. "He's serving a life sentence without parole."

Swallowing, Sweets looked down at the folder in front of him, flipping it open and looking at the small photo clipped to the front page. The killer's eyes were cold, his slight smile giving him the shivers. Sighing, he flipped it closed. "Agent Booth -"

"This woman? Was smothering her children within the first several months of their life. We put her away." He dropped the folder on top of the first. "Again, life without chance of parole."

Dr. Brennan now stood, holding her old folder. "In this case, I had the evidence and not the person to match to it. Booth was convinced there was something not right about the daughter of the victim, but I told him that the evidence pointed to a man nearly twice her size as the attacker. I wanted to pursue other avenues."

Sweets met her eyes. "And?"

"He kept on about the daughter. Claimed he had a gut feeling, and he wasn't going to let it go." She glanced at her partner. "It was the daughter's boyfriend. They'd broken up since the murder, and so we wouldn't have found him if he hadn't insisted we look into everything regarding that girl." She let the folder fall on top of the previous two.

"Okay, I see what you're doing -"

"I don't think you _do_," Agent Booth interrupted, holding another folder. "This man dragged his victims along the bottom of the river." He added to the stack. "This man went after small children on playgrounds." It was also added to the growing pile on his desk. "She poisoned her grandmother. He blew up four houses of government officials and tried to do the same to a federal building."

He needed to stop this before it got out of hand. "Agent Booth -"

But he kept it up, and the stack of case files grew until he had to stand up or he'd be unable to see either of them over the tower they'd created. Sweets was feeling more than a little nauseated at their descriptions, and he was starting to get gooseflesh.

"Guys!" he tried again. "If you could just stop -"

"_They_ don't stop, don't you get that?" the FBI agent shot back. "Understand?"

"I get that the two of you are good at what you do," he tried. "And showing me all the cases you've solved -"

"These aren't all the cases we've solved," Dr. Brennan interrupted. ""Not even close."

That gave him pause.

She stepped forward, her eyes grave. "These are the cases that were unsolvable until the two of us worked together," she said quietly. "We searched through all these files and found the ones that absolutely, without question, we would have been unable to solve without the other, and that no one else had been able to solve before us."

He had to admit, it was genius. He shouldn't have expected anything less from these two. How was he supposed to respond to that?

"Do you know how many violent, dangerous and unstable people are in that pile? Who would otherwise be running around on the loose hurting _more_ people if the two of us weren't working everyday to try and put them behind bars? _Hundreds._"

Dr. Brennan didn't even allow for a pause before she began adding her opinion as well. "We thought the problem is in the way we communicate. We thought if we found other ways to relate or to spend time doing other things, that would make our professional time more organized, more... normal." She shook her head. "But that didn't happen, did it? It just got messier. Because we were fighting against something you can't change." She paused. "It's like a skeleton, Dr. Sweets. It's unable to lie - it reveals truth after truth because it's at the core of a person, it carries marks and indicators of who they are and it's very difficult to alter something like that."

"This is what we _do,_ Sweets," Booth said firmly, his hands on his hips, his chin tilting towards the large stack on his desk and then the remaining pile still untouched. "And no one does it like us. We don't fit some case study you already have, and we aren't going to ever learn to communicate in a 'nice' or 'easy' way. We bicker. We argue. We push each other, and it's what gets the job done." He looked him right in the eye. "There is nothing wrong with the way we communicate. This is who we are, and we _like it._ We're not going to change it because you threaten to sign some paper." He once more glanced at his partner, and something flickered between them, something quiet and intimate. "_We're_ the experts on who we are - _not you._"

_Finally. _He had to bite back a smile.

"You're saying there's nothing wrong with the way the two of you communicate?" he asked slowly, easing back into his chair.

"_Yes," _they said in unison.

It was nice to see their confidence back. He'd wanted to make them think, to challenge them, but he hadn't wanted them to lose what made them both so fascinating and extraordinary in the process. He felt a rush of pride all of a sudden. Were they actually getting it?

"So what do you suggest, here, Agent Booth? Dr. Brennan?"

"I _suggest_," the agent said, "that you tear up that paper. Because as much as I love working with Bones and having her as a partner, this isn't just about us, Sweets. This is about the work we do, and splitting us up is going to do a hell of a lot more than just make me want to shoot you and upset our day."

Dr. Brennan nodded, crossing her arms across her chest. "We're willing to admit that we aren't always honest with each other, and it's _what _we communicate about that's the problem - not how."

He sat back further in his chair. "I see. And you're willing to finally face the fact that the two of you are more than partners? And that because of that, you need to talk to each other and find a working solution?"

The both nodded. "Yes."

"Good." He sat forward, and finally allowed a smile to spread across his face until he was grinning broadly, and it must have been catching, because after a moment of hesitation, they smiled as well.

* * *

He was making them look at possibilities. _Every_ possibility. From every angle. They told him they'd do it, and it had sounded like a good idea. But that didn't stop her from squirming like a 5-year-old at the dentist.

"I have never once doubted that you and Agent Booth do work of very high quality," Dr. Sweets informed them. She saw sincerity in his eyes, and appreciated it. "But you are very accomplished professionals who have worked with many types of people. I'm sure that I don't have to tell you that the nature of your relationships with your colleagues can greatly impact the experience of the work you do."

Sweets was right. Brennan remembered distinctly the frustration and irritability that surrounded every day of going to work, when she was having problems with Dr. Saroyan. She still loved what she did... but the context of it had changed so much that every day in her lab was an ordeal, and an upsetting experience. She had almost left her job over it.

"I hear that there are still some questions to be answered, about what you want the nature of _your _relationship to be. And perhaps there is no definitive answer to that. But the more we prepare for whatever you decide upon... the better position both of you will be in to make sure that the enjoyment of and the quality of your work is mostly unaffected."

Made sense. Then he started questioning them about the options. It was she who quickly jumped in to let Sweets know they had considered the obvious. "One option is... to revert back to pure professionalism. Well, and a friendship, of course," she said, noticing the hurt look on Booth's face. "In the beginning, our relationship revolved around work. We could do that again."

"Okay," the young therapist shook his head. "Talk to me about that. How might that affect you and your work? Give me the potential benefits, first."

Brennan blinked. "There are _lots _of potential benefits. It keeps our attention focused on... that." She gestured to the large stack of case files. "And I am confident in our ability to resolve work-related conflict. If that's the only thing we ever argue about, I am certain that it will never permanently, negatively impact our friendship. So we'd never have to worry about that. We'd know we'd always be... okay." And God, how she wanted to know that they'd always be okay. Aside from her job and Angela, Booth was one of the only things in her life that she had come to count on. The thought of that not being there anymore... it was breathtakingly devastating.

"That's good," Sweets encouraged. "What are the drawbacks?"

This time, it was Booth that responded quickly, and sourly. "We're bad at it."

She blushed while Sweets looked at him questioningly. "Can you say more about that, Agent Booth?"

"'Kay, Sweets. I'm going to talk like we are all big boys in this room." Booth turned toward her, and she almost told him to stop, because she knew very well what he was going to say. But she also knew that Sweets wanted... no, _demanded _to hear it too. Booth was talking to her, though. "Bones... we are sexually attracted to each other. And we care about each other in a way that exceeds the limits of a professional partnership. That "friends" ship has sailed. That Pandora's box has been opened. That..."

"That's enough bad metaphors," she said dryly. She turned to Sweets. "He's right, though. It would appear that our motivation and willpower to remain in a non-sexual relationship is very limited."

"It lasts approximately 30 seconds," Booth jumped in. When the man was right, he was right.

Now Sweets was blushing. He cleared his throat. "What else? Give me one more."

Her forehead wrinkled. "I could see it also being counterproductive. We might still be distracted by one another, now that we know..." Her voice dropped off. "It prevents us from adapting to the new situation. It might hinder our growth as individuals and partners."

Sweets waited, but she had said enough. "Okay," he finally agreed. "Moving on."

"There was what we had been doing. Being partners, but having sex when the attraction became too difficult to contain." Booth, now with just an edge of discomfort.

"Alright. What are the benefits?"

"We tend to be more relaxed for a period. Our work is somewhat like a crucible... sometimes, the pressure becomes unbearable. When we have sex, it feels like a relief," she noted.

"And it feels right." His words were said softly, but they made her practically shake with the honesty behind them.

"I see," Sweets responded. "So sex can become a context in which all those feelings can be expressed... the ones generated by your work together, and your proximity to one another. It feels uncomfortable to contain them."

This was true. It _was _an outlet. Just, apparently, one that caused even more problems then it solved. Which now they had to talk about.

"The risks?" he probed.

"Booth's inability to compartmentalize sex," she started.

Her partner's eyes widened. "Oh, this is all about me?"

"I'm just saying that because of my more naturally-occurring rationality and logic, it's easier for me." _Except for that little love confession that you made in this very office, _her very rational mind reminded her. She quashed it.

Booth seemed to take her comment as a challenge. "Sex _at_ work would probably be a risk. As we found out." Alluding to their run-in with Angela.

Ooh, he was asking for it. "Unplanned pregnancy. That would be a risk."

He nearly choked, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. "Bones!"

"Just being realistic," she said primly, crossing her legs.

He shot back. "It would be a risk for our other potential relationships. Somehow I don't see your next boyfriend responding well when you tell him 'I'll be back later, honey. I need to go have sex with my partner so that we can feel better about our jobs'."

Her eyes narrowed.

Sweets cleared his throat again. "That's enough for right now, I think. What else? Tell me another option."

She opened her mouth to say the other thing that she had blurted out to Booth in her panic. Then she closed it. She looked at him. This was _his _domain, not hers. His mouth was set in a tight line.

"That's it. That's all the options," he said, shortly, looking downwards.

The doctor's head was shaking. "Oh, give me a break, guys."

She should have known that Sweets would not let them out of this one. "What Booth means is, there is the _concept _of a non-professional relationship, as an adjunct to our partnership." Sweets eyed her, and she gave in. "The concept of a _romantic _relationship. But. It's not truly a possibility. Because it carries the most risk of all."

Sweets was shaking his head. "Here in therapy, Dr. Brennan? Concepts and possibilities are the same thing. You don't get out of talking about it just because it is a possibility that is risky enough to frighten you."

Damn that little brat, she thought petulantly, sounding like Booth in her own head. The _real _Booth, across from her, looked as if he wanted to disappear into the couch.

Sweets' voice softened. "Talk to me about those risks."

She was ready to recite the litany, the million and one reasons for the line. She knew them by heart. Surprisingly, Booth jumped in to save her. "Romantic relationships fail all the time," he said, quietly. "Your feelings about them seep into everything. Bones and I..." His voice seemed to waver just a little. "We can't fail. That's the unthinkable part."

She could not have said it any better.

"What else?" Sweets asked.

Her eyes met Booth's, locked there, in sad understanding. "There is nothing else," she said. "Nothing else as important as that." It is what everything came down to, was it not? The very existence of them. It was more important that they stay together as partners than for them to...

_Be happy._

"Tell me the benefits, then. You skipped them."

She swallowed. Booth's eyes flickered to either side. Neither of them spoke.

"Don't talk all at once," Sweets joked. It did not sound funny. They stayed silent. After a moment, he pushed again.

"What is so hard about this? You had answers for all the others."

Irritation rose in her. "I don't want to _talk _about it!" Sounding, pitifully, like a reactant child, and she was a little ashamed. She lowered her voice. "It seems... pointless. And dangerous."

"You know what?" the young therapist asked her. "I don't care."

Well _that _was not what she had expected him to say. She expected him to at least _feign _empathy.

"That came out wrong," he backpedaled. "I admire you for expressing your feelings so openly. But functionally, it doesn't make a difference. Honesty is hard work. Talking about things that you don't want to, but _need _to talk about is hard work. And you _need _to acknowledge this, to be prepared for any possibility, even the unlikely ones. So the fact that it makes you uncomfortable? No duh. Do it anyway."

Booth finally looked at him. "No _duh?" _he asked incredulously.

Sweets looked annoyed. "You know what I meant."

She decided that one of her least favorite things in the world was when Lance Sweets was right. But that did not make things any easier for her, to resent him. When her mind even _tried _to generate benefits to her and Booth being a... her mind could not even _think _the word couple. She had spent a _long _time convincing herself what an impossibility that was, how risky it would be. A look at her partner's struggling face made her think he was having the same difficulty. She was never a great believer in psychology. But the thing in her head keeping her from even considering what Sweets was suggesting? It felt suspiciously like a defense mechanism with the consistency of a brick wall.

"You're kind of putting us on the spot, here," Booth said tightly.

His face was indignant. "Dude. You put _me _on the spot today. Did I complain? No." He sighed. "Fine. You need time? Take some time. Come back tomorrow. We'll chat. But you _have _to get there. As long as you can't get there, complete honesty has _not _been achieved."

Another day? This was supposed to be resolved right here, right now. She started to protest.

"Okay," Booth interrupted. "Tomorrow. We'll have it for you tomorrow." She looked at him desperately. "We'll figure it out. We're the experts. We'll just... add something new to the way we think about things. It doesn't change what we _actually _have to do, in the end. Right?" he addressed Sweets.

"Right."

"C'mon." He stood, urging her to follow. Everything in her protested.

"Booth..."

"Bones. We're almost there," he whispered, and his hand clasped hers.

Almost there. One more hurdle to climb, until she and Booth could just be... who they were. She clutched his hand, hard, and gave Sweets an annoyed look as she snatched the files off his desk with her other hand.

"I still hate you," she told him.

"I know," he said soothingly. "I'm the mean therapist who is making you think about the difficult stuff."

She wondered, as Booth tugged her out the door, what the rationality was in hating someone for being right.

* * *

She paused when he held out her chair at the table, and he sighed. "Sit, Bones," he said quietly. Surprisingly, she did, murmuring a quick thank you, and he settled himself next to her.

Across the table, Angela and Hodgins sat calmly, hands clasped in front of them. They'd both received the invitation to dinner as they'd walked out of therapy, and, after running home quickly to change, had met the couple across town at a cozy Italian restaurant. His eyes drifted over the table, landing on a large, manila envelope, and he felt his stomach twist. Good news rarely came in a manila envelope, and if their _last _dinner with Angela and Jack was any sort of precedent for this one, they were in trouble.

_Oh, no._

After the session they'd just had, he didn't think he could take any bad news, and something about Jack's tone in the voicemail had put him on edge. He'd said simply that he and Angela had something they needed to talk to the two of them about, and he suddenly felt as if he were a little boy sitting across from his parents while they informed him their marriage was over.

_Please, god. Don't let them say they're getting a divorce. Bones won't be able to handle it._

"So," Angela said quietly as the waiter left, having delivered a bottle of wine. "We need to talk to you guys about something."

His partner shifted nervously in her seat, and he saw her shoulders tense instantly. He reached for her hand underneath the tablecloth, winding his fingers around hers, stroking her softly with his thumb. She seemed to relax a bit, and in doing so, he relaxed as well.

"It's actually more of a favor," Hodgins said, reaching for his wine glass.

"Oh?" Bones asked, sipping her own drink.

He could tell be the way she said "oh" that she was preparing for the worst, and he found himself wondering just how often she did that in her life. She'd certainly had enough experience with disappointment for it to make sense.

"We were hoping you could write us recommendation letters," Angela said, smoothing her napkin across her lap.

Bones froze next to him, and he clenched her hand more tightly. _What? _The only thing worse than them separating was them actually _leaving._

"Recommendation letters?" she asked, her voice sounding strangled. "But... _why? _You're _both_ looking for another job? That makes no sense! I didn't even know you were unhappy at the lab, I thought you -"

"Bren, Bren," Angela cut in smoothly, her hand up to stop her friend. "No, sweetie. Not for a job."

"Oh," she said suddenly, then frowned. "For what then?"

Booth was totally lost. Half worried for his partner and half concerned for their friends, he didn't know what to make of the dinner, and they were only fifteen minutes in.

Angela and Hodgins exchanged looks, and the scientist finally took a deep breath. "For a baby."

Booth's eyes shot to the woman next to him, then back across the table at his two friends. "What?"

"We want to adopt," Angela explained. "The process requires letters of recommendation from people that can speak about what kind of parents we'll be, and well..." She smiled. "You two know that better than possibly anyone."

"You're adopting?" Bones sputtered. "But, I thought... I thought you didn't -"

"Angela made me realize that us having being a family, having a family, was more important to her than carrying a child," Jack said quietly. "And we're looking into in vitro, but we realized that we have plenty of room to have more children, and we want to give a home to a kid who really needs one."

Booth was so relieved that a smile stretched fully across his face. "A baby?"

Hodgins flushed red, even in the low lights of the restaurant.

Finally recovering herself, Bones pushed back her chair and went around the table to hug Angela, and Booth stood to shake Jack's hand. "That's great, man," he said again, smiling. "Really."

"There's more," Angela said, once Bones was once again seated next to him, draping her own napkin in her lap.

They both just blinked expectantly.

"Since the two of you found it necessary to _butt into_ our personal life, we figure we should give you credit in some way."

"You're naming the little slugger Seeley, aren't you?" he teased.

"Um. No." Angela cleared her throat. "And, by the way, don't think just because the two of you felt it was necessary to manipulate us and it happened to _work_ means that you can do it again - ever."

This time, the look the two of them shared was a guilty one.

"Still, it did work. And because of that, we guess that in some strange way, we owe you guys for helping us save our marriage. So we were hoping that..." She paused, looking at her husband, reaching for his hand, her eyes suddenly shimmering. "We were hoping that..."

"You'd be the godparents," Jack finished.

"Us?" Booth croaked. "You mean, _both of us? _Not just Bones?"

Angela smiled widely. "Yes. Both of you." She reached for her glass. "We can't think of two more people better suited to help us raise a child who is genuine, loving and gives back to the world whenever he or she can." She sipped her wine. "Booth, Parker's a brilliant, sweet kid. We'd trust you with our child anytime."

His chest felt heavy at her words, and he had to fight back the moisture pricking at the corners of his eyes. He often felt so lost when it came to parenting, and it choked him up to have her say such lovely things.

"And Brennan... you and kids are a match made in heaven, in some weird way. It would be an honor to have you in our child's life."

"Ange," his partner whispered. "I don't know what to say. Are you... are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she said. "Not to sound cheesy, but it takes a village, right? And we want to surround our kids with as many wonderful, honest people as we can. And that means starting with the two of you." She leaned back gently as the waiter placed a salad in front of her.

_Honest people._ He certainly didn't feel very honest this week. In fact, he suddenly felt like a huge fucking joke. He hadn't lied, exactly, but he sure as hell hadn't told the truth. He'd danced around it like it was some sort of bomb about to go off, and the only way to avoid doing so was to call it by any other name.

A quick look at his partner said she was feeling the same way. He could see it in her eyes.

"Of course we'll do it," she said, recovering smoothly. "We'd be... honored, right Booth?"

He nodded. "Yes. Of course we will. And... congratulations, you guys."

Their friend beamed at them, their smiles bright enough to light up the room, and, spearing some lettuce with his fork, Jack suddenly looked at the two of them curiously. "By the way, how was therapy? Did you guys figure anything out?"

He swallowed, his eyes falling on his partner for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and he almost missed the slight curl of her lips at the corner. Almost.

He turned back to Hodgins, picking up his own fork. "I think we're getting there."

* * *

Her head was resting against the back of the car seat, her eyes lightly closed, and she could not seem to help the small smile that played on her lips.

"For as tumultuous of a night as this has been, you look happy," her partner commented to her. She opened her eyes to the familiar sight of him in the driver's seat, taking in the activity on the road in between glances over at her. She gave him a more intentional smile before closing her eyes again.

"The whole reason this mess started was because we wanted Angela and Jack to be okay. And finally, they are. Of course I'm happy."

"This mess," Booth echoed.

Her forehead wrinkled, and she wondered how two of her own words, parroted back to her, could make her feel so guilty. "I meant... this mess of having to prove ourselves to Sweets. Not... anything else."

Booth was silent as he navigated the dark streets.

"I can't believe... I mean, I can believe, but I'm _so _glad... but... they are really going to make this work, aren't they?" she mused, her typical articulateness failing her. "It was so close to all falling apart."

Her eyes were still closed, but she could feel him glancing at her again, studying her profile in the streetlights. "You know, Bones... every once in awhile? Things actually work out in exactly the way they should."

So she had heard. But she had so rarely experienced it. It was a suspicious, reluctant type of relief she was feeling right now. She had spent too long, ruminating on all the possible ways things could go wrong. This was different... being forced to imagine them going right. And it was hard, and unfamiliar, and scary.

Just ask Sweets.

The car rolled to a stop in a parking area at the front of her apartment, and she allowed her eyes to flutter open as she sighed, removing her seat belt. "I guess we aren't done working today, are we? We have to come up with some ideas for therapy." She tilted her head, admiring the way the dim glow of the apartment lights caught his strong profile, before shaking her head. "I sort of just wish...we could sit with these good feelings for awhile. Just enjoy things going right for a change."

"I can think of one," Booth blurted out, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"One...?" She questioned, but she knew. One benefit. One reason.

He so rarely looked insecure, but right now he did. "I..."

"What?" she encouraged. She felt suddenly guilty, at his hesitation, thinking that perhaps it existed because of the fear that she would not agree with him.

His voice and eyes were both soft, unsure. "I could kiss you. Anytime I want."

_Anytime I want_. The threat against their partnership had shaken her, stirred up so many emotions that she could barely believe the intensity of them. But this... his one, simple statement, the simple idea of being able to kiss him, _anytime she wanted..._she allowed herself to imagine it, for just a second. And a million feelings flooded her.

His eyes became big as a tear escaped her. "I'm sorry, Bones... I didn't mean..."

"Kiss me now," she demanded. If he didn't put his lips on her right away, she could not be certain what hers would say, and it frightened her more than anything else that had happened on this day.

He did not question her, merely placed his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her to him, taking her lips firmly with his. _Anytime she wanted, _without guilt, without question. The feelings the thought created were too much to bear, the frightening relief of the dam she had kept the thought behind finally bursting. His tongue played at her lips, and she accepted it eagerly, their breath mingling in the slight space between them.

"Can I..."

"Yes," she breathed, pulling back, fumbling to open the automatic locks on the door, needing to get to somewhere more open, as much as he did. They had been closed in too long.

* * *

**A/N: Anybody feeling the need for a nice, long, lingering love scene? Because ya know, **_**we **_**could take it or leave it. But if **_**you **_**want it….**

**Hee.**


	30. Chapter 29

**A/N: One or two folks voted for a long, lingering love scene. We're starting to think you like that stuff or something. Maybe we'd be extra-convinced if you'd review this chap and tell us so. Hee. Loooooves.**

* * *

A tangle of limbs, he dragged them through her front door, his arm around her waist as she slid her tongue across his. He slipped a hand under the hem of her dress, running it up her thigh, and she struggled with his tie.

"Why can't we seem to stop doing this?" she gasped. "Why?"

The answer seemed to catch in his throat, and he kissed her instead, one hand cupping the back of her head while the other trailed across her hip. She wound an arm around his neck and her fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him more tightly to her. The dress she was wearing was a simple knit, and he tugged the front down, baring her lace-covered breasts, his other hand pressing between her legs. As soon as he began massaging her through the cotton, a moan escaped her. Finally managing to get his tie from his neck, she tossed it over his shoulder, tugging his shirt from his dress pants.

Even when the sex had been great with someone, things had cooled down somewhat from that first time. But not with her. Each time was more intense with arousal coming more quickly but lasting so much longer. New fantasies cropped up daily, but finally, after all these years, he could play some of them out, could make just a few of them reality. Grabbing the hem of her dress, he suddenly started to tug it upwards, and she finally stopped her frantic attempts to unbutton his shirt and lifted her slender arms above her head. He flipped the dress off to land on top of his tie.

They'd barely made it out of the entryway.

Dropping to his knees suddenly in front of her, he pressed soft kisses against her belly, his fingertips whispering over her hips. She looked down at him, her hair tousled from removing her clothing, and he felt a rush of tenderness and his heart swelled. There was such trust in her eyes, so much emotion. Her eyes were always so expressive, so telling, their color like a barometer of her moods and feelings.

He wanted to see them turn Temperance blue.

Hooking an arm around one of her thighs, he parted her legs, throwing one over his shoulder. There as a soft thump as her head fell back against the wall, and he leaned forward, exhaling hotly against her through her panties. She moaned again, her palms pressing flat against the wall next to her, and he finally flicked the fabric to the side and put his mouth on her.

"You're the only one!" she gasped, her heel digging into his back. "The only one that can... oh my _god_."

"Why is that?" he rasped, lifting his lips from her. "Why?"

Her chest heaved, and a hand left the wall to curl into his hair as she looked down at him again, her cheeks flushed. "You know," she whispered, mimicking his words back to him from their night in the cabin.

The moment hung between them, lingering. He nearly spoke, the words tangling in his mouth, but then her eyes fluttered closed, her head again falling back, and he lowered his lips to her inner thigh before flickering his tongue higher, drawing a cry from her. This ability to render her nonsensical, to have such an effect on a woman so often in control and sure of herself - it was powerful and humbling and knee-weakening all at once.

"Oh, god!" She gasped suddenly. "I'm going to -"

He felt her orgasm wash over her; saw it in the full body flush of her skin and the quivering of her breasts. Moving up her body, he pressed kisses against her stomach, chest and throat before reaching her mouth. She clung to him weakly, her hands clutching the cotton of his shirt. He opened his mouth against her skin just below her ear, sucking lightly, and it was at that moment that he heard her, that he caught the word she let slip from her lips.

_Baby._

He practically shook, raising his head to meet her eyes, and she looked astonished herself at the endearment that had escaped her. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, and her eyes remained wide, and he suddenly smiled broadly.

And she smiled back.

Sweeping her up, he held the warm weight of her in his arms, heading for her bedroom. If he couldn't kiss her whenever he wanted, he would do it whenever he could, however she would allow him.

* * *

Temperance Brennan had never, in her life, called a man 'baby.' She did not believe in it, but mostly just found it silly, referring to an adult as an infant, as a helpless thing that needed her. It just did not make sense, _especially _in reference to Seeley Booth, who was among the most self-sufficient people had encountered in her life. And when that word... _'baby'... _fell out of her lips as he soothed away her climax with kisses, the one given to her in the way only _he _could, she realized something surprising. The association she once had with the word had been replaced. It now was a reference to something precious, something valued among all others. It meant something wonderful. And she did not have the time to contemplate when and how in God's name _that _happened, before he had lifted her, easily, and carried her towards her room.

They had never done this here, she realized. Aside from their fumbling, intense, interrupted first experience over the back of her couch, their intimacy had been relegated to the cabin, and to his place. She felt it the second they crossed the threshold, she felt his entry into the heart of her, one of the places she had kept private from him. It felt a little like being open, exposed. And that felt... strangely... okay.

_He knew. _He _had _to know, this thing inside her that she couldn't quite name, but he had to be able to see it, as transparent as she felt lying before him, naked, her thighs slick from his mouth and her eyes wide.

He talked to her, softly, running his fingertips down her shoulders and arms, caressing the curves of her body as if memorizing them to later make a sculpture. His head descended, face pressing into the juncture of her neck and her shoulder, inhaling her, pressing kisses along her chest, making her arch. "This one, too," he said softly.

The words tried to penetrate her blur of desire. "What?" she gasped.

"This color," he told her, fanning his fingers over the flushed skin of her breast. "This pink... after you just came for me. There's none like it. You own so many colors..."

It struck her as crazy, fantastic, unbelievable that the man was attuned to every nuance of the shades of her eyes and her skin, and her response to it struck her more, his _caring _about such things felt like an intimacy beyond which she had ever experienced. The power behind it filled her with a rush of energy, and suddenly she found herself pushing, struggling to get her upper body up off the bed and push him down to it.

"I want you," she gasped, lifting herself to straddle his hips, her fingers resuming their earlier task of opening his shirt to her. She was hurrying now, spurred on by something wild inside of her, anxious to get to... what? The sex? The moments afterward, where she felt so connected to him, she could barely find herself? Or the part even after that, when they left one another, feeling both devastated by the loss, and relieved to be away from all those emotions that so confused her?

He groaned as she pushed open his shirt, leaning down to run her tongue across his chest, his nipples, eagerly absorbing the taste of him. She was rocking against the ridge of his erection in his pants, dampening the material there with her own wetness. "Temperance..." he breathed her name as his fingers tangled in her hair, and it sounded like a plea and a protest. She ignored it, reaching between their bodies with one hand, trying to remember how to work her fingers on the button of his pants while her mouth worked over the muscles of his shoulders.

"Temperance..." His voice sounded more desperate now, and she strove to block it out as her hand made contact with him through his open zipper. She squeezed, and a choked sound escaped him. This part was so easy... she eased down, his stomach hard against her lips, his cock throbbing in her hand, and all she wanted to do was lose herself in him.

"Temperance!" he gasped, finally becoming more forceful, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her up to him again. She practically sobbed.

"What? What," she asked, desperately, trying not to feel the sweet kisses he was pressing on her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, just wanting for him to allow her to pleasure him, to impale herself on him and rock them into another world, where they didn't have to make all these important decisions.

He would not stop, though, and he held her still, chest to chest, heart to heart. "Slow down, baby. Please. Slow down." His voice was soothing, but it still made her impatient somehow, angry, that he somehow knew the right way to be doing this. He wasn't supposed to know.

"Why?" she demanded, desperately squirming. "Why can't we just have sex?" It was the question whose answer had increasingly seemed so seductively just out of reach. She wanted to know. She didn't want to know. It was all so much. His hands caught at her face, and he stilled her with the look in his eyes. That gaze that had made her beg for an answer that first time in the cabin.

"You know," he whispered, and her mind fought it while her heart demanded it. After everything that had happened to them in the past several months, it still surprised her, which part of her won the battle.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her lips hovered inches from his, their eyes locked. She whispered.

_"Tell me."_

_

* * *

_

_Tell me._

He hadn't expected her to respond - or to request any sort of explanation. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked into the deep pools of her eyes, and though she trembled, he believed, for the first time, that she really wanted an answer. And despite the thundering between his ears, despite knowing that if he finally spoke, there was no going back... he told her.

"Because_ I love you," _he whispered. "I love you, god, I'm _in_ love with you." He sucked in a breath, drowning in the color of her eyes. "I have been, I ..."

She would run. He was almost sure of it. Or she'd try and quantify it, she'd try and explain it away or make it something she could process and see - like evidence. He braced himself, air still filling his lungs, waiting for her to do something, anything.

He didn't see it in the near-darkness of her bedroom, but he felt the tear that slipped from her chin to his bare chest, and he finally let go of the breath, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms. He'd finally done it - had finally explained why it was they couldn't just be friends, couldn't just be co-workers, and why it was, no matter how hard they had tried, that they couldn't just have sex. And until the words had left his lips, he realized he'd never said it even to himself, in his head. Yes, he loved her, had for as long as he could remember now that he finally understood, finally realized what it was that had always been between them. He had shoved it down, had denied it for so damn long. Focus on the feeling? That feeling was love.

He cupped her face, peppering kisses all over her face, brushing her hair from her damp cheeks. "That's why... okay? That's why it's not just sex for me anymore, baby. It probably never was."

She nodded, shuddering slightly, and then she kissed him. She kissed him passionately, her mouth covering his, her whole body responding and pulling him into her touch, and he swept her beneath him, feeling her hips arch into his hands, her legs tangling with his. They seemed to kiss forever, pressing closer, skin to skin, sharing breath after breath. Moving lower, her slipped the strap of her bra from her shoulder, following it damply with his lips. She arched slightly, allowing his hands to sneak into the slight concave of her back, and his fingers flicking over the clasp until her chest was bare. The rosy nubs of her nipples fit easily into his mouth, and he suckled as she cried out, her pale skin quivering as he caressed her.

She tugged him back to her mouth, her hands winding in his hair, and then she ripped her lips free to press kisses along the side of his neck before running her tongue lightly along the edge of his ear. "_Seeley,"_ she breathed.

He was so hard he was practically in tears. The sound of his name, his given name on her lips always brought him there, and he slipped a hand between her legs, her moan swallowed by his urgent kiss.

"Temperance. Tell me. Tell me how much you want this." He rotated his touch and her head fell back.

He touched his lips to her throat, whispering against her skin. "Tell me..."

He wouldn't push for the words he'd said himself. She'd blurted them out once, in anger, and he didn't expect to hear them again. But he had to hear she wanted him, that she needed him as much as he needed her.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and she arched her body against his touch. "Booth –"

"Tell me. Tell me how much you need me."

Shuddering, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, something he'd found to be devastatingly sexy since the first time he'd seen her do it. "I... I need you. Please. _Please_, don't make me wait any more. Please –"

"Please, what...?" he rasped. "Say it."

She gasped, her back arching, her lips parting. "Come to me," she whispered.

Trembling, he moaned, tugging her mouth to his. "Oh god, baby..." He thrust deeply into her and she cried out, locking her legs around his hips, pulling him more tightly against her.

"God, I always wanted you like this," he gasped. He pressed kisses along the bridge of her nose, against her jaw. "For so long, it's been so long... oh, god..."

Squeezing him tightly, she tried to urge him on, but he refused, moving with agonizing slowness, wanting to make it last.

Unwilling to let him take total control, she slid her hand down his back slowly and he arched his body in response to her touch. Tracing his lower lip, she twirled her tongue in the corner of his mouth. Moaning, he clenched his eyes shut. She moved her lips to his neck, opening them hotly against his skin as she cupped his ass in her hands. His breath caught, and he pulled back and buried himself within her again, slowly. Smiling against his neck, she slid the tip of her tongue along his collarbone and down to his chest, scraping across his nipple. He jaw tightened as she teased, and he knew he could only hold back a few moments longer.

She returned to his jaw, nibbling lightly and trailing across his cheek to his earlobe. Tugging it with her teeth, she finally sucked on it, and he dropped his head down, his body shivering.

"Seeley," she whispered hotly in his ear. "Tell you?" She let her tongue flicker inside his ear and he gasped. "Tell you what? That I want this?" She undulated her hips, squeezing him tightly. "That I think about this always? That I need you, that I always want more?"

"Oh my god," he gasped, overcome. Her words drove him further towards oblivion. "Stop." If she didn't, he was going to explode.

She laughed softly, knowing she had him. "Faster," she commanded with a breath against his jaw. "Faster."

He gave in finally, his whole body trembling. Quickening his pace, he dropped his mouth to hers, thrusting his tongue between her teeth, stroking the inside of her cheek. Her body burned against his, and she met each thrust with her own until they were both gasping into each others mouths, their climax reaching its peak.

Cradling her head in his hand, he begged her to open her eyes. "Temperance," he urged. "Come with me."

* * *

She did not fall asleep this time. Every time after they did this, she had felt stunned, shell-shocked, and her body tended to take sleep, perhaps so she would not be forced to think through the implications of what they were doing. But this time, she stayed awake and watchful, fingertips trailing back and forth over his smooth chest.

It would seem that every time she received a satisfactory answer to something she asked, it only seemed to open things up to more questions. She remembered her wish when they had first arrived here at her place... _'I just wish we could sit with these good feelings for awhile'..._ and she longed for it again. Because, truth be told, she _did _feel good. Incredibly, amazingly, heart-achingly so. But there was still so much to be figured out, and her frustratingly over-analytical mind was not allowing her to forget it.

"What are you thinking?" his low voice spoke up, the fingers of one hand twirling a lock of her hair at her shoulder. He had been quiet as well, reflective, and she was grateful for it. There were times when words felt almost overwhelming to her.

Her hand stilled, and she frowned, considering. "I'm thinking... that I have to do a lot of thinking."

"I see." He sounded tentative, and it occurred to her that he was likely in his own state of quiet panic. It had taken courage for him to say the things he had said to her, she had no doubt about that. Everybody knew that Temperance Brennan wasn't very good with feelings. They also knew that she wasn't an easy person to love. "Do you... do you need to be alone?"

He was being careful not to push her, and she both respected it and was frustrated by it. Suddenly, a humorous thought occurred to her. "Is that your M.O., Booth? Confess your love to a woman, then leave her alone in bed? Not very gentlemanly of you." Her eyes flicked up in time to see his astounded expression, and his mouth opening and closing, trying to generate a defense. She couldn't help it; she laughed.

At her giggling, he caught on, but was no less indignant. "You're _joking? _I bare my heart and soul to you, and you _joke _about it?" But he was smiling too, and he swept her onto her back again, nuzzling at her neck. "I'll have you know that this is very... serious... business," he told her, punctuating the words with tickles to the sensitive spot over her hipbone, making her squirm and laugh.

"Stop," she gasped. It would be so easy, she thought, just to give into the easiness of these moments, to let him kiss her again until her chuckles dissolved into gasps, and escape into whatever they were to each other. But it couldn't be an escape anymore...Sweets had insisted on that, and as much as she was loathe to believe it, he was actually probably pointing them in the right direction. They needed a plan. Or else, they might spend the rest of their lives trying to understand this thing, and never actually getting to fully enjoy it, feel completely comfortable with it. Or... worse... letting it destroy them.

He grumbled. "Fine." Giving her one last, slower kiss, he pushed himself up with one strong arm, resting his head on his hand. "What do you suggest we do with this very serious business?" And just like that it was back again, that big question that had been haunting them circumambient.

Her voice was small. "It seems like every solution we come up with has more risks associated with it." She was stating the obvious, but it was all she could think about.

Studying her long enough to make her uncomfortable, he took awhile to speak. "You're right about that, Bones. But you know what? That's the way of the world. You never know anything 100 percent. You get up in the morning and get out of bed and you go into the world...and it's a risk. For all you know, you could be struck by lightening. But you do it anyway, because you _have _to, to get the most out of living. Because you believe that it's worth it."

_Do it anyway. _That's what Sweets had told her, when she expressed her resistance to thinking about the things that made her uncomfortable. It had made her angry, that he would push her that way. It occurred to her, right now, how many wonderful experiences in her life she would not have had, should she have waited until she felt ready. But some risks held more weight than others.

She sat up, pulling the sheet to her breasts. He observed her, silently. "Booth..." She couldn't even look at him.

"Hmm?"

It felt now like all her thoughts came tumbling out in a confused heap. "Most of my relationships have ended in epic failure, you know. I don't do very well in perspective-taking, and I don't communicate very well. Nearly always, there were misunderstandings that led to hurt and betrayal and anger. I can't tell you how often the result of those relationships was resentment. When I've been lucky, things ended civilly. When I've been unlucky, it's ended with me hoping to God that I would never even run into that person on the street again. _None _of those relationships ended with me feeling like I would want to _work _with someone afterward, be put into a position where I'd trust that person with my life, or even with watering my plants when I went on vacation. Do you realize for us, what a _disaster _it would be, if that person was...each _other? _Can you even imagine how much harder it would be, if I were in love with my partn-..." She stopped short.

Booth blinked, still trying to register her tirade, and not understanding what cut it off.

Dread filled her. "It's too late," she whispered.

His eyes grew rounder. "Too late?"

She shook her head. "I've been so stupid. It's too late. How can we make a decision about this when it's too late?" Near-panic now, she was struggling out of bed, searching for her dress.

"Whoa, Bones, whoa. What's it too late for?"

Finding it, she pulled it over her head, not entirely sure what she was trying to prepare herself for, but knowing she couldn't just lay around here in her bedroom, with _him, _giving up to all of this. "Booth, I'm trying to think of a new plan here, okay? I've been working under the assumption that if I could just stay _objective _about this, if I didn't fall in love with you, we could make a logical decision. But it's too late, and we need... to figure out something else."

He had been reaching for her, trying to calm her, and he stopped. "Bones. Are you saying..."

She looked back at him frustratedly. "_Yes. _Yes. Stop acting like you're surprised. It's not like I didn't tell you." For God's sake, she had blurted it out in front of him and Sweets and anyone else within earshot of that office.

"Tell me?" He was looking so bowled over that she would have felt badly for him, if she herself wasn't so anxious. "But I didn't know how... what..."

"Yes, Booth. I'm in love with you. Okay?" Her heart was beating fast, too fast, her head was spinning, and her stomach churned. "I think I'm getting sick."

It seemed to snap him out of the reverie he had almost fell into. "Bones. No. You aren't sick."

"Yes, I am. I'm sick."

He grabbed her face, forced her to look at him. "No. You're not sick. You're just in love."

It silenced her for a second. Her eyes grew wide. She stared.

Then, she exploded away from him. "In _love? _God, Booth, don't you understand? That's _worse. _I don't feel good, and you try to make me feel better by reminding me I'm in _love? _What's _wrong _with you? You'd be a _horrible _doctor." She stood a few feet away, panting in her near-hysteria, looking at him with his confused eyes and his tousled hair and the sheet that he was having trouble keeping wrapped around his middle.

And when he started laughing, ruefully, his head in his hands... she amazingly joined in.

"I bare my heart and soul to you... and you _laugh?" _she murmured the words he said earlier, still half-terrified, but half-amused, amazed at how things could turn around so quickly, and so unexpectedly. Booth was right. No one could ever be sure of anything, 100 percent. That was one of the scariest and most wonderful parts of life.

"Come here," he said, extending his hand to her, still chuckling, and she joined him, feeling strange and dizzy and crazy with all her feelings, and wondering at how _this _chaos was what Sweets said they needed. This chaos was complete honesty.

And right now, standing in the midst of this whirlwind, she wondered at the fact that it felt like the best kind of relief.


	31. Chapter 30

_**A/N: soooo... guess whats? this is the last chaaaapter. we know, we know, you're so sad, right? WE are so sad. :( we've loved writing this story. but there's AN EPILOGUE. so no worries. we couldn't leave you just yet. :)**_

_**oh, and also? (this is even cooler.) we actually have never told you guys this, but we live on opposite coasts. that's right, 3,000 miles apart. but tonight? we're sitting next to each other! and we wrote together! we're sipping wine and hanging out with our favorite reviewer, miss jenmo. so, after a weekend of five star restaurants and hotels and participating in the AIDS walk, we decided we missed you guys and would write just a little bit for you. :)**_

_**oh, and also... we lurve you all and the comments that you throw our way. But we try so hard to put thought and emotion into our chapters, that when someone calls them "fluffy," we're all, "But that's like a MARSHMALLOW. We were going for FILET MIGNON." so. pleeeease only use the word fluffy if you mean "candy-sweet," not "supa-fabulous." thanks for indulging our quirks. lurves!**_

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He snagged a piece of the fruit she was cutting, popping the sweet nectarine wedge in his mouth. She was wearing only her bedsheet, tucked around her breasts, and her skin still glowed from their time together in bed. Propping his chin up on his hand, he studied her as she sliced a snack for them, sipping at the wine she's poured.

Something on one of the decorative shelves around her kitchen caught his attention, and he suddenly leaned over, plucking the decorative spoon up and smiling. "Hey, Bones. I know how we can figure all this out for Sweets."

She looked up curiously, then burst out laughing when she saw what he was holding. "The listening stick? You must be joking."

He frowned teasingly. "Hey. It's not a stick. It's a a three-hundred year old artifact from Uganda."

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "Uruguay."

"Whatever."

She plucked several grapes from the stem, popping them into her mouth. "That thing just made us argue."

"We resolved the driving issue."

"You mean you won."

His eyes widened. "Hey! You said you understood my logic."

She grinned, giving him a sexy look. "I totally let you have that one and you know it."

He got up from the stool he was sitting on, coming around the counter to put an arm around her waist and nuzzling her neck. "C'mon, Bones," he urged. "We need to come up with something."

She sighed, tilting her head to give him better access. "Fine. I'll play with your stick, Booth, if you really insist."

He chuckled at her joke, but his crotch tightened regardless. He couldn't help it. "You can't say stuff like that when we're at work, you know. It's going to drive me crazy."

She seemed to consider this seriously for a second. Setting down her knife, she reached for the spoon and his hand, leading him into the living room. She shoved him gently onto the couch, sitting next to him on her knees, facing his profile. He turned, meeting her eyes. "We're really going to do this?"

"It was your idea."

"I was kind of joking, though."

She sighed, and he realized that while she may have let him take her to bed and confessed her love, she was always going to be literal and rational. Good thing he secretly loved that, too.

She put the spoon in his hand, closing his fingers around the handle. "You first."

He swallowed, looking into her eyes. His first thought was what he could actually tell her, what he could admit, and then he realized, as she put a hand on his bare arm, that he'd already admitted that he loved her, had already taken the plunge. This was just the details, right?

"I..." He glanced at the spoon in his hand and took a deep breath. "I don't want us to not be partners anymore. I think when we were showing the importance of the work we do to Sweets, we were also showing ourselves."

She nodded, about to open her mouth, but he help up the spoon. "Ah!" he teased. "My turn still, baby."

She clamped her mouth closed, but he could see the laughter in her eyes.

"But..." He sighed. "But I love you." He looked up at her, and her cheeks pinked sweetly at his words, making his heart thump. "And I can't not be with you, either." Reaching out, he stroked the side of her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Bones... we can find a way to make it work, right?"

Her eyes shimmered, but she didn't speak. Sighing, he leaned forward, kissing her softly. "Say something..."

She smiled. "You still have the stick."

He laughed. "Jesus, Bones."

"Well, you shushed me last time!"

"I didn't shush -"

Her mouth descended on his again, and this time he pulled her into his lap, the sheet trailing over his knees. Pulling back to catch her breath, she plucked the listening stick from his hand. "I just... I still have trouble understanding what he wants from us."

He considered this for a moment, then met her eyes. "I think he just wants us to be honest."

She sucked in a breath nodding. "Okay."

"We can do that, right? We don't have to hide anymore? Because you... you meant it, right, when you said that you -"

"I meant it."

Relief flooded him, and he held her tightly, burying his face in her neck for a moment, pressing a kiss there against her warm skin. "I want to be with you," he whispered. "Not just... be with you in bed, as friends who sleep together. But... be with you."

She stilled, but she remained relaxed in his arms, and when he gazed into her eyes, he saw nothing but the Temperance he'd grown to know over the years, and he smiled again. "Tell me we can make it work."

* * *

Brennan did not have a problem with commitment. She actually was extremely, devotedly, _passionately _committed to the most important things in her life... her education, her job, her hobbies. She was committed to things she could manage, organize, and control. It was people who disrupted that process... they were infinitely unpredictable and inconsistent and as long as they remained so, they did not fit the conditions for making long-term investments in. And now, as she clutched her Uruguayan spoon to her chest and pressed her skin against that of the man who was asking if they could do just that, dissonance flooded her. Everything about Booth was different. She never could manage him. Or her feelings for him.

"I can't tell you that."

The smile falling from his face made her heart squeeze painfully, but she promised honesty to him. She wasn't going to go back on that. She owed him more than a cliched promise based on blind faith.

"No one can promise that," she elaborated. "You can't predict the future."

"I see." She saw his eyes flick away slightly, a subtle disguise, and she was briefly surprised at how adept she had become at reading those signals. Instinctively, she reached up with her free hand, tilting his face back to hers in a gesture reminiscent to one he used years ago, to assure her that there were more than one kind of family.

"And I want to try anyway."

He stared, and she blinked at him, wondering why _that _comment, he wasn't having a reaction to. Looking downwards, she realized that she had their symbolic indication of power in her hand. She thrust it back to him. "Here."

Looking at it dumbly, he shook his head, and she looked at him questioningly.

"Bones."

"Yes?"

"You are going to kill me one of these days."

"Why?" Apparently, she couldn't read him completely yet.

His face reflected disbelief that she wouldn't know such a thing. "Temperance Brennan. Are you _fishing?"_

"Not that I'm aware of," she replied honestly.

After he paused, she found herself lifted, laid back against the pillows of her couch, tousled hair smoothed back over her shoulders. It thrilled her, to be moved so easily by a man. _This _man.

"Because the thought of predicting a future without you? Kills me."

Her cynical side fought against the words, then gave up. "Then it's only practical that you don't imagine such a thing," she said, a sly smile touching her lips, before she found herself pressed against the pillows by his warm mouth. Suddenly, it made her feel a little dead inside to imagine not having this as well.

"What'll we tell Sweets?" she breathed against his mouth, her fingers winding into his hair while he carelessly tossed her spoon behind the couch.

Between kisses, he answered her. "We tell him that during the day we do our jobs. Like we told him about. And then afterward..." His mouth attached to her throat, and the sheet that was tenuously wrapped around her threatened to come undone.

"Afterward..." she trailed off into a sigh as he pressed his lips at the spot under her ear that made her quiver.

"Afterward, we're together. And you kiss me. Just like..."

He didn't get to finish, because she let the sheet fall from her body as she arched upward off the couch, kissing him, passionately. With commitment.

They didn't need an object anymore, a stick or a spoon or anything but the two of them to tell them how to communicate, how to live their lives. It didn't matter. They had already known.

"That's all?" she teased him breathlessly. "Why did it take you so long to come up with _that?" _

He grinned at her. "I needed some therapy."

"Sensate focus?"

"Well it wasn't the goddamn listening stick."

She burst into laughter and the abandoned sheet slipped onto the floor as she dissolved into the kisses of the man with whom she was planning an unpredictable future.


	32. Epilogue

**A/N: It had to happen eventually. We couldn't allow our separation anxiety to keep us from letting our fic reach its natural, inevitable conclusion. Now, we cry and drown our sorrows in sangria, comforted only with the knowledge that **_**of course **_**inspiration will soon strike again, and we will collaborate once more for all you lovely folks. If, of course, you'd like that. Would you like that?:)**

**

* * *

**

_Six months later..._

Lance Sweets, Ph.D., rubbed his hand across his forehead tiredly, heaving a deep sigh. "You're kidding."

His clients blinked at him. Brennan leaned over to whisper into her partner's ear, indiscreetly. "Why does he think we're kidding?"

Booth shrugged. "How would I know?" he whispered back. "The kid spends most of his time at comic book conventions. I don't know how he thinks."

He had discovered a while back that the only surefire way to disrupt the insults was to keep their minds occupied with more questions. "Guys. I asked you to discuss an important topic you've had conflict with this week. And _this _is what you come up with?"

Brennan looked offended. "This _is _important. Booth and I share many meals together. And I think it's only fair that he respect my feelings about this."

Her partner gave Sweets a desperate look. "I'm sorry. But have you _seen _tempeh? It's soybeans _fermented with mold. _That _can't _be good for you. I just can't watch her eat that crap."

She looked offended. "I'm not asking _you _to eat it, Booth. And it is a very healthy food choice."

"But it ruins _my _meal to see it!"

"But..."

_"Guys." _Sweets felt a little like crying again. "After everything we've discussed..._ this _is your important issue?"

Brennan crossed her legs, looked thoughtful. "I think so. After all... Angela and Hodgins have been navigating the adoption process nicely. We've been very successful in our past several cases."

"So the inevitable conclusion is to argue over your food choices?"

A look at his clients told him that indeed, that _was _the only obvious conclusion they saw.

"You do realize that therapy has come full circle now," he pointed out dryly. "A year ago, we sat here while you argued about tofu satay. Therapy is supposed to lead to some sort of _progression, _you know. Improvement? It's _not _supposed to end where it began."

"That's not our fault. You sidetracked us from our tofu discussion by talking about mail. What are we supposed to do? Argue with our therapist?" Her words were sweet, and he struggled with the urge to strangle them both.

Booth jumped in. "You know what? I think I actually _preferred _the tofu. At least it wasn't moldy."

"Mold is not necessarily a harmful organism," she shot back. "It's used in the production of many things you _do _eat, such as cheese and soy sauce. Your prejudice is aimed directly at the vegetarian lifestyle. And I resent that."

That was it. He exploded. Again. "_Jeez, _guys! Don't you see? _Nothing _has changed!"

Booth turned to look at him calmly. "Sweets. Really. _Relax._ So we bicker about what she eats -"

"_You mean _you_ harass -"_

"-But shouldn't that make you _happy?_ Maybe that's all we have to argue about anymore. Maybe that's all the conflict resolution we need - the fact that she eats mold in front of me."

"You got a salad with bleu cheese the other day!" Dr. Brennan said triumphantly.

The agent turned to her slowly. "Yeah, and I scraped it off - it tasted like an old, moldy shower curtain," he said, his face showing his distaste. "And I only ordered a salad in the first place because you kept ragging on my burgers -"

Sweets stood up, his hands on the sides of his head, his elbows cocked out to the sides as the two went back and forth. Walking over to the window of his office, he looked down at the city of DC and sighed.

"Dr. Sweets?" Dr. Brennan called to him. "Are you okay?"

He turned around slowly. "Guys. You have stressful jobs. You come into contact with really disturbing people who do extremely creepy or sad things to other people. That's something you should want to _talk_ about, something you should want to discuss -"

"We do," Agent Booth said quietly. "With each other. And that's enough for us."

Sweets paused, glancing between the two of them. "You do?" he asked suspiciously. "You really talk about how you feel after cases?"

"We always have," Dr. Brennan said quietly, her fingers curling together in her lap. "What we didn't talk about was how we felt about... other things."

The FBI agent nodded, jumping to finish for her. "And we do that now, so, you know... we can argue about moldy food," he said, his grin impish. "Right?"

The psychologist sighed, glancing between them for a moment before picking up a folder as he sat back in his chair. "Get out of here, both of you," he muttered. "I have real work to do."

They looked startled, but he amended his words with a smile. "Your session's almost over, guys. Go get some lunch, argue about what you order..."

His two clients looked at one another suspiciously, but stood up anyway. "This isn't a trick, is it?" Booth asked. "To see if we're willing to cut out early?"

"Go!" Sweets said laughing. "Just go. You guys are ridiculous, you know that?"

"See you next week, Sweets," Dr. Brennan said sweetly, gathering her up her belongings.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, the smile still teasing his mouth. "Try to have some real issues, next week, though, okay? I'm tired of arguing about soy products."

"Yeah, sure, we'll work on that," Booth joked. At the door, he held it open for his partner. "I'm so getting a burger at lunch," he muttered to her. "No more salads."

"You're going to get fat -"

"Not a chance, baby..."

And with that, the door swung shut, the muffled sounds of their bickering just audible as they waited for the elevator. Pushing back out of his chair, he wandered over to the window again, his eyes on the park several blocks away. Maybe he'd go have his lunch there today.

Some movement caught his eye in the parking lot, and he looked down to see the two partners burst out the front door. Dr. Brennan was shoving the agent's shoulder, and then crossed her arms across her chest, looking clearly miffed. Laughing, Booth wrapped and arm around her waist and tugged her to him, and, surprisingly, she let him pull her into a kiss. It lingered for several moments, and then he must have whispered something to her, because she threw her head back with laughter. Even despite the several floors between them, Sweets could see that she was beaming, and when they finally broke apart, moving towards the car, he watched the agent reach for her hand, curling his fingers around hers.

He smiled again, broadly. Maybe he'd made more progress than he'd thought with these two. They'd discussed the prospect of the two of them in a romantic relationship months ago when he'd threatened to break them up, but he'd never actually observed the two of them together, at ease and without an obvious audience.

The two of them reached the car, finally, and the young psychologist's eyes widened as he saw something truly amazing - Booth pressed the keys to the Tahoe in his partner's palm and, with a joy almost child-like, Dr. Brennan clapped her hands and skipped around the side of the car. The agent just shook his head, his smile visible as he climbed into the passenger seat.

As the two drove away, Sweets moved back to his desk and sank into his chair with a satisfied sigh.

_Oh, yeah. I'm that good._

_

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_**A/N: Thank you for you interest, enthusiasm, and your lovely feedback. It meant and means the world to us. Loves.**


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